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PASSING SHADOWS. 






PASSING SHADOWS. 


^ NOVEL. 


/ 

By ANTHONY 





NEW. YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO' I 

BKNZIGER • BROTBBRS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1897. 


Copyright, 1896, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Chapter 1 7 

Chapter II 15 

Chapter III 24 

Chapter IV. 37 

Chapter V 49 

Chapter VI 59 

Chapter VII 66 

Chapter VIII 79 

Chapter IX 90 

Chapter X 99 

Chapter XI no 

Chapter XII. 128 

Chapter XIII 143 

Chapter XIV 153 

Chapter XV 163 

Chapter XVI 172 

Chapter XVII. 181 

Chapter XVIII 191 

Chapter XIX 200 

Chapter XX. . . . • 209 

Chapter XXI 216 

5 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Chapter XXII 220 

Chapter XXIII 224 

Chapter XXIV 243 

Chapter XXV. 258 

Chapter XXVI 274 

Chapter XXVII. ........ 290 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Into each life some rain must fallJ*^ 

I T had been snowing heavily all day, and by evening 
the snow was deep upon everything. In the front 
room of a little house in Eldridge Street, in the lower 
East side of New York City, a young mother, weak and 
suffering, lay upon a bed which had been drawn near 
the bright fire in the grate. Her husband and a phy- 
sician stood aside watching her anxiously. 

“ This is an unexpected change in your wife’s con- 
dition, Mr. Crystal,” the physician was saying, ” and 
as the action of the heart is very weak, I am afraid that 
the chances are against her recovery.” 

” Do you think there is any danger of her dying ?” 
the young husband asked, his voice sinking to a low 
whisper. 

The doctor went over to the bed, and taking out his 
watch timed the sick woman’s pulse, and looked long 
and earnestly at her. Then he came back to the hus- 
band to answer his question. 

” I fear that she is in imminent danger.” 

The young man caught his breath, and a shadow 


PASS/ JVC SHADOJVS. 


. 8 

passed over his face. For several moments he said 
nothing, standing silent, in a dazed sort of a way. 

“Is there any danger to-night, doctor?” he asked 
again. “ Because if there is, I had better go for a 
priest.” 

“ I would advise that,” the physician replied. “ I 
did not know you were Catholics. It is a little late,” 
he continued, glancing at his watch ; “ but I meet the 
priests of your Church at all hours of the night in sick- 
rooms, so you will not have any difficulty in getting one 
now.” 

The husband came over to his wife’s side, and taking 
her feverish hand in his, said tenderly, “ The doctor 
thinks that as you are no better, it would be well to 
send for a priest.” 

“ I wish you would,” she whispered. “ I feel so 
weak, I am afraid I may die.” 

The physician departed, saying that he would be 
around in the morning. A few moments later the 
young man stepped out of his door, and turned in the 
direction of the church. It was just one o’clock, he 
noticed, by a large clock hanging in a jeweller’s win- 
dow. The snow was still falling heavily, and the wind 
blew fiercely through the deserted street, pelting the 
fine snow against his face. A snow-plough drawn by 
eight horses came rushing along, scattering the snow 
off the car-tracks, while the driver yelled at his horses, 
and woke the sleepers in the tenements on both sides 
of the narrow street. After the snow-plough had passed 
quiet reigned again. When he had gone a little farther 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


9 


on his way, the hurrying man encountered a policeman 
whom he knew standing in a hallway to avoid the sharp 
wind. The officer bade him good-evening, and asked 
him where he was going. On hearing the destination 
he joined him, saying that it was about time to go 
to the end of his beat. The two men hurried along the 
lonely streets, making their way with some difficulty 
through the deep snow, and at last reached the rectory. 
Just as they arrived there the driver of a passing car 
pulled up his puffing horses, and cried out to the officer : 

“ Say, there’s a fight going on up the avenue. Hear 
that shot !” 

The policeman slipped his long night-stick from 
its place in his belt, and started on a run. 

Mr. Crystal ascended the steps leading to the rectory, 
and rang the bell. 

A light was burning brightly in a room on the second 
floor of the house in which the priests lived, and two 
young priests were disputing with much warmth a moot- 
ed theological question. The elder, who was on a visit 
to the city, sat at a table, with several huge vel- 
lum-covered tomes before him. The younger man 
walked up and down, accenting his opinions with many 
gestures, after the fashion of nervous people. 

Suddenly the bell rang clearly in the room. 

“ A sick call !” he exclaimed, standing still. 

“ Looks like it,” the other answered. 

The young priest hurried downstairs, and unlocking 
the door, admitted a man into the hallway. 

” Good-evening, Father ; I’ve come to get you to go 


lO 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


on a sick call. I’m sorry to bring you out such a night, 
but my wife is pretty low, and she is anxious to see 
you.” 

The priest wrote the name and address in a little 
book which he carried in his pocket, and dismissing 
Mr. Crystal, said that he would be there immediately. 

” Is it a sick call V' the older priest asked, looking 
up from the volume he was reading. 

” Yes,” the young man answered, beginning to dis- 
robe himself of his cassock. 

” Well, that’s satisfactory.” 

” Satisfactory ? I don’t understand you.” 

” I mean that it’s a satisfaction to know you have 
been called downstairs about something serious.” 

” But nobody would ring the bell as late as this un- 
less it was an urgent sick call, would they ?” 

‘‘Just wait a few weeks and see. I have been rung 
up as late as two o’clock, when I was an assistant here, 
by a man who wanted to know if I couldn’t accommodate 
him with some cold victuals. I told him that I would ac- 
commodate him with a policeman if he did not leave im- 
mediately. After I closed the door, I heard him saying 
to himself, ‘ There’s Christian charity for you. Ask a 
priest for food, and he tells you he’ll get a policeman.’ ” 

The young priest smiled as he slipped his coat on, 
saying, ‘‘I had better, then, expect all kinds of night 
calls here.” 

” Exactly ; you won’t feel disappointed then if a man 
rings you up after midnight, as one did me, to ask if 
the number of the house was 66, and when I told him 


PASSmG SHADOWS. 


II 


it was, he said, ‘ Thanks ; I’m looking for No. 75 ; 
I guess it must be across the way.’ All kind of char- 
acters drift over here from the Bowery, so you had bet- 
ter keep yourself prepared for surprises.” 

The younger priest was ready to go, and started for 
the door, when the other stopped him. 

” Where is the call ?” 

” Eldridge Street.” 

“What floor?” 

” I don’t know.” 

” Didn’t you ask ?” 

” No ; should I have asked the floor ?” 

Certainly ; always find out the floor, and whether 
it is in the front or back, and also which side it is on. 
That knowledge saves time and mistakes. I suppose 
you didn’t think to tell the messenger to leave the door 
open, did you ?” 

” No ; I never thought of that.” 

” Well, probably he will close it, and then you’ll have 
to ring the bell. But don’t bother ; you’ll find out all 
these things for yourself before you are a week on the 
mission. I would advise you also to carry a match-box 
full of matches with you. A man who wears glasses, 
as you do, needs some light when climbing up rear 
tenements.” 

The young priest started on his first sick call. He 
found it strange and lonesome when he entered the 
empty church, where the swaying light from the sanc- 
tuary lamp caused moving shadows on the walls. 
When he turned the key in the shining door of the tab- 


12 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


ernacle the loudness of the noise startled him. He 
placed the Blessed Sacrament in his pyx, and ex- 
tinguishing the two candles which he had lit, left the 
church and hurried on his way. 

Walking with the quick step of an active young man, 
he was soon at the house, the door of which was open. 
He went up one flight of stairs, and seeing a light shin- 
ing through a transom, judged that that must be the 
room. He was glad to find on knocking that he was 
right in his conjecture. He found the sick woman so 
weak that she could not speak to him above a whisper. 
After he had heard her confession and given her Holy 
Communion, he opened a small gold case containing 
the holy oils, and prepared to anoint her, He had fin- 
ished the preliminary prayers, and was about to touch 
the eyes of the sick woman with the oil, when the hus- 
band, who was kneeling at the bedside, with his young 
baby in his arms, reached out his hand and caught hold 
of the priest’s arm. 

“What’s the matter?’’ the young clergyman asked 
in astonishment. 

“ Does that mean that she is going to die ?’’ 

There was such a look of suffering in the man’s eyes 
that the priest paused for a moment, and then laid the 
case containing the oils on a table beside him. 

Calling Mr. Crystal to one side, he asked : 

Did the doctor tell you that your wife was very low ?’ ’ 

“ Yes,’’ answered Mr. Crystal; “he said she was a 
very sick woman, but I hardly realized that she could 
die, until I saw you beginning to anoint her.’’ 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


13 


The tears burst from his eyes, and he hugged his 
little one close to his bosom. 

The priest hesitated for a moment, touched by the 
man’s grief, and then suddenly his face brightened up 
as he said, “ I’ll tell you what we will do before I 
anoint your wife. This is my first sick call, and perhaps 
if we kneel down together — a young priest and a young 
husband — and say a prayer for your wife’s recovery, 
God may find it in His mercy to spare her to you.” 

Hope came back to the heart of the suffering man at 
the priest’s words, and together they knelt at the bed- 
side of the sick woman, and said a short, earnest prayer 
for her recovery. The husband while he prayed looked 
at the wandering eyes of his wife as she awoke from 
the coma into which she had sunk, and then into 
the bright eyes of the baby in his arms. He seemed 
to be undecided about something for a moment, and 
then suddenly his face became set, and he held up his 
little one toward heaven, as if he were offering her in 
sacrifice. 

The priest finished giving the last sacrament ; a woman 
from the floor above came to offer her services, and the 
priest left. 

When he arrived home, to his surprise he found his 
friend still studying and comparing the volumes which 
were open on the desk. It was now nearly three 
o’clock. He stood still a moment, and then ex- 
claimed : 

” VJG\\,you must be fond of theology ! Why didn’t 
you go to bed ?” 


14 


PASSING SNA DO MIS. 


The elder one looked up from his book, and not 
noticing what had been said to him, he began : 

“You were saying that in the question of grace and 
free will — ’’ 

“ Now, see here,” the younger man interrupted, 
“ grace and free will have no attractions for me at this 
time of night. I’m going to bed. I have to say the 
six o’clock Mass in the morning.” 

“ Never mind, I’ll say it for you, and you can say 
Mass later.” 

“ Oh, no,” the tired young priest feebly protested. 

“Yes; I’ll attend to the early Mass. I don’t mind 
losing a little sleep when I come to the city. I get too 
much of it up in the country.” 

The next morning, when the physician called to see the 
sick woman, he found that her pulse was stronger and 
that she gave signs of growing better. By the follow- 
ing day the doctor said that her recovery was certain. 

“ I did not expect to find your wife alive the next 
morning,” he communicated to the young husband a 
week later. “ She showed all the signs of approaching 
death.” ^ 

The young husband looked first at his wife, and then 
at the baby in her arms, and thanked God for so much 
happiness. 


FASSING SHADOWS, 


15 


CHAPTER II. 

“ Sweet childish days, that were as long 
As twenty days are now." 

IV T EW YORK is a wonderfully cosmopolitan city. It 
^ is very German and it is very Irish. It has a 
French quarter of no mean dimensions, and there are 
more Italians on Manhattan Island than in most of the 
large cities of Italy. Then there is a Ghetto on the 
East side, and whole districts occupied almost solely by 
Bohemians and Hungarians. There are Cubans if not 
Spaniards, and there must be Swiss, or there would not 
be a house on Second Avenue for aged and infirm Swiss 
people. Then there is South Fifth Avenue and Sixth 
Avenue for the colored people ; nor must one forget to 
mention that there are a few people whose great-grand- 
fathers were born in America. 

It is not surprising, then, that Tom Crystal, having 
got a touch of fever while hunting Paynims from 
Lahore to Kandahar, to preserve peace in Her Majesty’s 
dominions, and having received his discharge from the 
Army of India, should make his way to New York, 
whither so many from the old countries had preceded 
him. 

He had been employed in a hardware shop in an 
Irish town before it had entered his head to become a 


i6 


PASSING SI/A nows. 


Tommy Atkins. He found employment in the same 
business shortly after his arrival in America. 

When he had been with his firm about a year he was 
sent on business to a small village in Canada. Next to 
the hotel in which he lodged, there lived the notary of 
the village, together with his wife and their only un- 
married daughter. Young Tom Crystal, after he was 
in the village a few days, made the acquaintance of the 
old notary, who together with Monsieur le Cur6 shared 
the honor of being able to speak “ Englis’.” 

The young man first began chatting with the notary 
over the fence which separated the cottage from the 
hotel. Then he came through the gate and smoked a 
pipe with the old man. The third day he crossed the 
threshold of the quiet little home, and fell in love with 
the only remaining daughter of the notary’s house, who 
likewise fell in love with him. 

“ Can I have Mademoiselle Annette ?” he asked. 

“ No ! No !” the old man answered. “ She is our 
only child now, and, also, she is too young. Besides, 
Monsieur Crystal, without meaning any offence, I must 
say that we do not know you.” 

” As regards the last objection,” replied the young 
man, ‘‘it is easy to settle that. You can write to 
the junior member of the firm for which I work ; you 
know him, as he was born in this village ; he will tell 
you all about me.” 

But no argument could induce the old man to part 
with his daughter. 

‘‘ If you come back next year, and you are still of the 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


17 


same mind, then I will listen to you,” said he, thus 
thinking he had settled the question. 

Young Tom Crystal, like Jacob, returned to his work 
to wait patiently for his Rebecca. Regularly every 
month he wrote the old notary, sending his love to An- 
nette. The months slipped by rapidly, and one fine 
day in June, while Annette was trimming the honey- 
suckle vine which covered the porch of. the little cot- 
tage, and the notary was smoking his pipe filled with 
strong Canadian tobacco, the faithful lover appeared at 
the gate. 

The old father saw it was useless to try to hold out 
any longer against le jeune Irlandais, and so before the 
end of the month Monsieur le Cure married the young 
lovers, and little girls in white strewed flowers in their 
pathway. 

Tom Crystal brought his bride to live in Eldridge 
Street. The houses in that street had been occupied 
formerly by one family. When New York began to 
grow toward the north, those who could afford to 
live in private dwellings moved uptown, and the little 
houses they left were then occupied by several families. 
Most of these people had come over from Ireland or 
Germany, hoping to find a more prosperous life in the 
new country. Of late years the neighborhood has 
changed again. A new people, the ” Children of the 
Ghetto,” have flocked in great numbers to this part of 
the city, and nearly all who lived in Eldridge Street when 
Tom Crystal first took up his residence there, have now 
sought new homes in Brooklyn or in upper New York. 


8 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


The little brick house in which the Crystals lived, 
flanked as it was on both sides by tall, yellow mosque- 
like flats, looked cute. A half-dozen steps, on both 
sides of which was a curiously carved iron railing, led 
up to it. Its little door was as white as a baby’s coffin. 
At night, the light in the hallway, shining through a 
strip of orange-colored cloth, gave a touch of color to 
the entrance. The white metal knob and the bells 
shone like silver. 

There were two children born to the Crystals, and 
both were girls. The elder was called Gabrielle and 
the younger Agnes. 

Gabrielle was dark, like her mother ; Agnes was fair, 
like her father. There was only a year’s difference in 
the ages of the two girls, and when they were old 
enough they were sent to the parish school. 

Even before they attended school, Agnes, much to 
the amusement but secret satisfaction of her parents, 
declared her intention of becoming a nun. 

This inclination to a religious life manifested itself 
very early in her. One day there passed through 
Eldridge Street two “ Little Sisters of the Poor,” who 
were begging aid for their Home. Agnes, as soon as 
she saw them, ran to them, and gave them a pressing 
invitation to come and see her mother. 

The sisters followed the child, delighted with her 
prattle. When they met Mrs. Crystal and heard her 
stories of her little daughter’s desire to become a nun, 
one of the sisters turned to Agnes and said, ” So you 
would like to become a nun 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


19 


“ Oh, yes !” the child responded with considerable 
enthusiasm. 

“ Suppose,” continued the sister, ” that I take you 
along with me now, and make you a nun ?” 

” Oh, that will be good !” the child cried. ” Mam- 
ma, get me my jacket, so I can go right now.” 

She ran to the window and shouted to Gabrielle, who 
was in the yard playing with a doll. 

Either the fascination of the doll was too great, or 
else that was not one of Gabrielle’s days for feeling 
any attraction to convent life, for she merely looked up 
at her excited sister, and then with all the callousness 
of Charlotte, ” who went on cutting bread and butter,” 
she returned to her play, regardless of the golden op- 
portunity. 

The sister had some difficulty, once she had fired the 
hopes of the little girl, to reconcile her to the thought 
of putting off her entry to the convent to a later day. 

Agnes, as soon as the invitation was given her, rushed 
about the room looking for her jacket and hat, and 
called upon her mother to get her father and Gabrielle 
and for all to go to the convent. 

The visit of the sisters was not without its ef- 
fect. 

A short time afterward Mrs. Crystal noticed that her 
children remained in one of the rooms for a long time, 
and that they were unusually quiet. 

Suddenly the door opened, and in marched Agnes, 
dressed as a nun. She had, with the help of Gabrielle, 
bound u strip of white linen about her forehead, A 


20 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


small black shawl was used for a veil, and a black apron 
belonging to Mrs. Crystal served to make a long dress 
for the little nun. A rosary hanging at her side com- 
pleted the effect. 

“ See, mamma !” the child cried with delight ; “ I 
am a sister.” 

Mrs. Crystal’s face lit up with a smile such only as 
God gives to mothers, and gathering her little one to 
her breast, she covered her with kisses. 

Gabrielle had enjoyed the whole thing hugely until 
she saw Agnes getting all the kisses, whereat she burst 
into tears, and would not be comforted until her mother 
promised her that when she grew big she could become 
a school-teacher, which occupation had a special attrac- 
tion for Gabrielle, whose great delight was to assemble 
an assortment of babies on the front stoop and put 
them through a rigorous catechizing. 

From the first day that the children went to school 
Agnes took everything very seriously ; Gabrielle was 
too full of plans to long remain faithful to any one of 
them. 

Sometimes, after listening to the young novice who 
taught them tell of the glorious actions of one of the 
saints, Gabrielle’s heart would be on fire with enthusi- 
asm for God’s cause. A little later the fire would cool 
and go out, and then she would become of the earth, 
earthy. 

One day the novice, who was bubbling over with 
spirituality, gave her class a lecture on humility, dilat- 
ing on the beauty of that particular virtue, telling them 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


21 


how necessary a virtue it was, and ending the discourse 
by quoting the words of Scripture, “ But when thou 
art invited, go sit down in the lowest place, that when 
he who invited thee cometb, he may say to thee, 

‘ Friend, go up higher.’ ” 

Gabiielle was much impressed with the necessity of 
humility, and the next day on her arrival at school she 
took her place at the foot of the class instead of near 
the head, where she rightfully belonged, on account of 
her almost perfect recitations the day before. 

She sat there for over an hour, but the novice never 
noticed the act of humility. At last Gabrielle’s virtue 
exhausted itself, and she cried out in despair, “ Sister, 
I took the lowest place, and you never once asked me 
to go up higher !” 

Sometimes Gabrielle’s religious practices resulted 
fatally. 

It was the beginning of the season of Lent, and the 
novice gave her charges a lecture on the necessity of 
mortification,, suggesting that each one of the children 
give up something during the holy season. 

Gabrielle always took three pieces of sugar in her 
coffee every morning. On Ash Wednesday she started 
in to take but two during the forty days of Lent. She 
had found out that Sundays do not properly belong to 
Lent, so on the Sundays she took her usual allowance. 

On Easter Sunday she was richer by forty pieces of 
sugar, which she had carefully preserved. She ate the 
forty pieces at ohe sitting. She did not eat anything 
else the rest of that day. 


22 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


But it was not only on religious subjects that Ga- 
brielle’s teacher lectured. She trained them in the 
rules of etiquette, so as to make “ little ladies” of them. 
Gabrielle was apt to take .things literally. 

One day the novice took her visiting to another con- 
vent. They sat in an open, crowded car. After they 
were there a few moments the car stopped and a pas- 
senger entered. The new passenger took the seat di- 
rectly behind Gabrielle. The child was watching her 
chance, and as soon as the new arrival was seated, 
jumped up, and in a voice which could be heard easily 
in all parts of the car, she exclaimed, ” Please excuse 
my back !” and then sat down again. The passengers 
were convulsed with laughter, to the surprise of Gabri- 
elle and the mortification of the novice, who never ex- 
pected that the child would take her instructions so 
literally. 

One more incident may be worth recording. It is 
taken from the life of Agnes. When she was nine 
years old she was so possessed with the idea of becom- 
ing a nun, that she resolved to take measures to make 
her future sure. 

Her mother looked all over the house for her one 
day, and finally discovered her daughter on the roof. 
It was a cold, raw afternoon in the early winter, and 
Agnes, with a little thin shawl pinned about her head, 
had climbed up the ladder leading to the roof of the 
house. When she got there she took from her pocket a 
number of scraps of paper, and flung them up toward 
heaven, the wind carrying them far out of sight. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


23 


On each scrap of paper was written one of the ejacu- 
lations from the Litany of Loretto, with a request in 
this way : 

“ Queen of Angels, make me a nun.” 

” Morning Star, make me a nun.” 

” Tower of Ivry, make me a nun.” 

Sometimes, as in the last request, Agnes was some- 
what uncertain in her spelling. 

Thus the two children lived in a golden dream, and 
were very happy, 


24 


FASSING SHADOWS. 


CHAPTER III. 


“ A malady most mcidetit to maids.” 

HE years passed by, and Gabrielle and Agnes grew 



to be young women, Agnes still fully bent on 
becoming a nun, and Gabrielle, now less impression- 
able, content to remain in the world. 

It had been definitely decided that Agnes Crystal 
would enter the convent in about a year’s time, but as 
yet she had not made up her mind as to the particular 
order of nuns she would join. Gabiielle went out “ to 
business” every day. Agnes remained at home and did 
the housework. 

Gabrielle had celebrated her nineteenth birthday, and 
Agnes was eighteen. They had grown up quietly, and 
while it was expected that one day Gabrielle would fall 
in love and marry, neither Mr. Crystal nor his wife nor 
Agnes had ever given the matter a moment’s real 
thought. To them it was some vague thing that might 
happen before she was thirty. But Gabrielle had fallen 
in love before she was nineteen, and not having the 
courage to mention the fact to any one, she followed 
the example of Viola, and hid her love. 

Little by little, however, the keeping of this secret 
became a burden to her, and she would fain share it 
with some one else. After several weeks of delibera- 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


25 


tion she finally decided to make a confidante of her 
sister Agnes. 

They were sitting together in the pailor one evening 
late in July. Agnes was reading and Gabrielle waiting 
for her courage to grow strong within her, so that she 
could introduce the subject that was closest to her 
heart. After many moments of suspense Gabrielle 
began. 

Have you fixed on any particular time as yet for 
entering the convent, Agnes ?” she asked, clearing her 
throat with a little cough, as she found the words did 
not come readily to her lips. 

Agnes laid down the book of a circulating library 
which she was reading, and looked up in surprise at 
her sister, on account of the abruptness of the question. 

“ No ; I have not decided definitely on any day,” she 
replied. ” I thought of fixing on the feast of the Im- 
maculate Conception, but mother asked me to wait a 
little longer, so I do not know at what particular time 
I shall enter. I have not even made up my mind as yet 
which order I shall join.” 

“ I shall be sorry to lose you when you go,” Gabrielle 
began again ; ” but as long as it is your wish, I suppose 
we shall have to become reconciled to it. After all, 
perhaps you are doing the best thing. You will get 
away from the world and its worries, and I can assure 
you that that alone is a great happiness.” 

Agnes opened her eyes wide with astonishment, and 
looked closely at her sister, to see if she was in earnest. 
Being convinced from the tone and countenance of 


26 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Gabrielle that she was talking seriously, Agnes ex- 
claimed : 

“ Why, Gay, how strange you talk ! What do you 
know about the worries of the world ?” 

“ More, Agnes, than you think,” Gabrielle answered, 
and then hung her head and lapsed into silence. 

” I don’t understand you at all. Gay. Has anything 
happened to grieve you ?” 

Gabrielle rested her arm on the side of the chair, and 
covering her eyes with her hand, said : 

” I suppose there is no use in crying over spilled 
milk, but I wish that father had moved uptown three 
years ago, when he was thinking of doing so.” 

This came as a little shock to Agnes. 

” Why do you wish that. Gay ? I never heard you 
say before that you were dissatisfied with this house.” 

” Oh, it’s not the place we live in which makes me 
unhappy,” Gabrielle hastened to reply ; ” it’s — ” a 
long pause followed, during which Agnes waited in 
vain for the completion of the sentence. 

” What is the matter. Gay ?” the younger girl asked, 
at the same time drawing her chair a little nearer, and 
placing her hand sympathetically on her sister’s 
arm. 

Gabrielle took down her hand from before her face, 
and caught at the long lace curtain trembling in the 
breeze which came in at the window, bringing with it 
the din of the streets — the shouts of children at play, 
the cries of venders, the belated tinkling of a hokey- 
pokey bell, and now and then the stray notes from the 


PASSnVG SHADOIVS. 


27 


violin of a musician, who was tuning his instrument for 
the night’s work in a roof-garden theatre. 

“ Do tell me, Gay,” Agnes again pleaded, as Ga- 
brielle had not yet answered her first entreaty. ” You’ll 
be better able to stand it, if you share your secret with 
me.” 

” I’ll tell you if you promise you won’t be angry with 
me,” answered Gabrielle. 

” Certainly not ; why should I be angry ?” 

” Well,” said Gabrielle, knitting her two hands to- 
gether and bowing her head, ” I’m — I’m in love.” 

” Oh !” exclaimed Agnes in astonishment. 

Gabrielle looked at her sister nervously. 

” I knew you wouldn’t like it, Agnes, when I told 
you ; but I can’t help it. It’s all father’s fault.” 

” What has father got to do with it ?” 

” He should have moved away from here several 
years ago,” Gabrielle answered impatiently, ” and then 
I would have been spared all this misery.” 

” But you might have fallen in love if we lived else- 
where,” Agnes argued. 

” No, I wouldn’t,” Gabrielle replied emphatically ; 
” I could have helped it then, but now I simply cannot 
help it.” 

” But you have not told me as yet with whom you are 
in love,” said Agnes, anxious for more information. 

Gabrielle’s answer was a helpless sigh. 

“ I wish you would guess, and not force me to tell you 
everything,” she said after a pause. 

Agnes accepted the invitation, and made several 


28 


FASS/JVG SHADOWS. 


guesses. Finally she acknowledged that she could not 
imagine with whom her sister was in love. 

“Well, then I can’t tell you,’’ said Gabrielle. “I 
have made a mistake, and now I see it clearly, and I’ll 
say no more about it’’ —her voice dropped to a whisper — 
“ even if it kills me.’’ She rose from her chair to 
leave the room, but Agnes stood in front of her, plead- 
ing to hear the name of the young man, and assuring 
her that she approved of it already. Gabrielle was in- 
duced to take her seat again. 

“ I thought you would have guessed his name, and 
saved me from all this worry ; but it seems I must do 
everything myself.’’ Then after a little she continued, 
“ It’s Jack Fulton.’’ 

“ What !’’ cried Agnes, “ Jack Fulton ?’’ 

Gabrielle’s head sunk into her hands, and she said 
despairingly : “ I knew that would be just the way you 
would take it. If mamma and papa heard of it, they 
would say I must have taken leave of my senses.’’ 

She rose for the second time to go. 

“ I thought, Agnes, that you, at least, would have 
given me a word of comfort.” 

Her tone brought Agnes back to a realization of 
things present. 

“ O Gay, forgive me ! I didn’t mean to hurt you ; 
I was only surprised. It seems so strange.’’ 

“Yes, I suppose it is strange. I suppose it’s even 
foolish ; but it’s so, and I can’t help it.” 

“ Well, you’re not bound to help it. I am sure that 
some day you would have lost your heart anyhow, so 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


29 


we ought to have been prepared for it. I admit, how- 
ever, that your falling in love with Jack Fulton does 
seem singular.” 

” Yes, and hopeless, too,” Gabrielle added. 

The two girls were still standing in the middle of the 
room. 

” Let us sit down. Gay,” Agnes said. ” You may 
be certain that I am ready to do anything I can for you.” 

Gabrielle, thus appealed to, was glad to accept the 
opportunity to discuss her love for John Fulton. When 
they were seated Agnes opened the subject by asking, 
” How long, Gay, do you think you have been in love 
with Jack ?” 

Gabrielle thought for a moment, and then replied, 
” I believe about five months. I always had a school- 
girl liking for him, as you know, but now” — dropping 
her eyes — ” I really love him.” 

” Do you think that he suspects that you love him ?” 
Agnes asked. 

” I’m sure he does not He goes on treating me as 
if I were a school-girl in short skirts. Oh,” she ex- 
claimed, as her feelings mastered her, “if he would 
only not be so stupid and see that I am a woman and 
no longer a child, 1 would be satisfied !” 

She had been playing with the window curtain, but 
she tossed it away from her angrily as she thought of 
the hopelessness of her case. 

Agnes looked at her a moment with some concern. 
Gabrielle, though older, had always leaned a little on 
her, and now expected consolation in her new trouble. 


30 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ Jack certainly likes you, Gay, I can see his eyes 
light up with pleasure whenever you come into the 
room.” 

” Perhaps so ; but I can assure you that it is not what 
the poets call ‘ love-light.’ I know that he likes me, 
but that is a very great distance from loving me. He 
is always kind to me, but it is the kindness which 
‘ grown-ups ’ show to children. His kindness only 
makes me feel the more surely that he still looks upon 
me as a child, and how can I ever expect him to return my 
love if he will never see that I have become a woman ?” 

” That certainly is a difficulty,” Agnes admitted, 
bowing her head. ” He has known you so long that I 
suppose it is hard for him to realize that you are not 
now a young girl.” 

” I don’t see why it should be ; I don’t act like a 
baby, I hope ?” 

” Not at all,” Agnes hastened to reply. ” His eyes 
have not yet been opened, that is all.” 

” Perhaps I had better get a sign and have printed 
on it, ‘ I am a woman,’ and carry it around my neck.” 

There was a sparkle of indignation in Gabrielle’s 
eyes and her tone was sarcastic. Agnes could not help 
smiling a little at the idea. A pause followed, during 
which Agnes tried to imagine a way out of the diffi- 
culty, so as to offer some encouragement to her sister ; 
but no solution of the problem presented itself. 

At this moment the sound of music from the street 
below brought a welcome distraction to Agnes Crystal, 
giving her a longer time to think Qver Qahnelle’s case, 


PASSING SNA no IV S. 


31 


One would not imagine, at least from a first glance 
at the two girls, as they drew their chairs nearer to the 
open window, that they were sisters. 

Gabrielle was about medium freight, with black eyes, 
black hair, and a complexion such as maidens have in 
Provence and Castile. Agnes was a trifle taller, with 
blue eyes and a faint pink color in her cheeks, which 
when it flamed one might be deceived into believing 
was hectic. It had often been said that they were two 
of the prettiest girls that walked on Grand Street. 
That was considered at one time a great compliment by 
young ladies living on the East Side. 

Agnes Crystal had that delicate prettiness which is 
peculiar to New York girls who sell bonbons in the 
fashionable candy stores or perfumery over the coun- 
ters of the big department houses. Gabrielle had, on 
the contrary, a foreign look, a round, dark face. 
“ Shust de face to paint a peekshure fiom,” remarked 
a Bohemian artist to Gabrielle’s mother, when he 
asked permission to have her daughter give him some 
sittings. 

If you watched the two girls closely, however, you 
would notice a similarity in the profile of their faces, 
and also little tricks of gesture, which told that they 
were sisters. Gabrielle got her swarthy complexion 
from her French Canadian mother. Agnes took her 
bright blue eyes and her fair face from her Irish father. 

When the two girls looked down on the crowded 
street, they saw, what is frequently seen in that neigh- 
borhood, a detachinent of Grand Army men, with ragged 


32 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


flags, returning from a funeral. A band of musicians 
walked before the men, and the musicians were in turn 
preceded by a solid vanguard of children, very dirty 
and very happy-looking. When the procession had 
pa’ssed, and the strains of the much-played “ Marching 
through Georgia” were heard only faintly by the two 
girls, Agnes opened the conversation again. 

‘‘ I have been trying to think, Gay, what would be 
the best course for you to take, but at present I see 
nothing for you to do except to wait patiently.” 

” You don’t think it wrong of me to have fallen in 
love with Jack, do you ? I mean, you don’t consider it 
a sin ?” 

” What an idea !” she exclaimed. ‘‘ Why should I 
consider it a sin ?” 

” Well, I didn’t know. You yourself would never 
have done it, so I wasn’t sure but what you might con- 
demn me for it.” 

” Because I am going to enter a convent, is that a 
reason why you shouldn’t fall in love and get married ?” 
Agnes asked. ” I hope you do not consider that I am 
such an eccentricity as not to be able to understand 
your falling in love,” she continued, ” I am afraid 
that I will have to hang a sign around my neck with the 
legend, ‘ I am a woman,’ so that my sister will be mind- 
ful of the fact.” 

Gabrielle, noticing that Agnes was a little hurt, hast- 
ened to explain that her words had been misunderstood. 

The matter rested there for that evening. Gabrielle 
felt relieved, now that she had told her love to some 


PASSING SI/ADOIVS. 


33 


one, and especially to one as sympathetic as her sister. 
Agnes, on the contrary, did not find any comfort in the 
new knowledge she had gained. John Fulton, she 
reasoned, had known Gabrielle since she was a small 
girl, and it did not seem likely that he would now fall 
in love with her. Moreover, he was, very much devoted 
to his mother, and probably would not marry while she 
lived. The whole thing was most unfortunate. It 
would only make misery for Gabrielle, and also for 
John Fulton if it ever came to his knowledge. She 
would gladly have counselled her sister to crush this 
affection out of her heart as a thing never to be realized, 
but she understood Gabrielle’s character well enough 
to know that such advice would avail nothing. Alto- 
gether, after thinking the whole matter over, she con- 
cluded that it was better to humor her sister and trust 
to the future for a solution. 

The following evening Gabrielle proposed to Agnes 
to go walking. Agnes knew what the proposition 
meant, and willingly assented to it. 

Grand Street, garishly brilliant, was chosen by Ga- 
brielle for the evening’s walk. 

“ I would like very much to ask you a question, 
Agnes, only I am afraid it might shock you,” Gabrielle 
began, after they had gone a little way on their walk. 

‘‘You might try the experiment,” Agnes replied, 
‘‘ and if I feel myself getting shocked. I’ll tell you,” 
she added, a smile playing about her mouth. 

Gabrielle was silent for a moment, and her lips moved, 
as if she was practising the exact words she would use. 


34 


PASSING S/IADOIFS. 


“ What I wish to know is, would you consider it a sin 
to pray for a change to come over Jack ?” There was 
a faint tremor of fear in her voice, for she feared an 
affirmative answer. She did not wait for Agnes to re- 
ply, but added hastily, by way of explanation, “ I 
do not ask you to pray for him to love me ; that would 
not be. proper I know; but only to pray that he will 
begin to look upon me as a young woman almost twenty 
years of age, and not the Gay Crystal for whom he used 
to do hard sums when I went to school.” 

Agnes was puzzled, and her hesitation showed it. 
Gabrielle watched her, and growing excited under the 
suspense, exclaimed earnestly : 

” I do wish, Agnes, you would pray for me. You are 
fine on praying. You always get what you ask.” 

Agnes laughed loudly, a thing she rarely did. 

‘‘ I really do feel great sympathy for you. Gay, but 
I must confess I am a little puzzled. I never did pray 
for anything like what you have mentioned to me.” 

The crowd on the street had grown so large, and the 
girls found walking so difficult, that Gabrielle proposed 
to pass over to the other side, which was less frequented, 
as one side of a busy street always is. When they had 
done so Agnes continued : 

” I don’t believe, however, that it would be wrong 
for me to pray for such an intention. It might not be 
proper in your case for you to pray for yourself,” she 
went on, feeling her way like a doubtful casuist, ” but 
it can hardly be wrong for me to pray for such a tem- 
poral good for you.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


35 


“ That’s just it !” exclaimed Gabrielle, with no little 
excitement, much pleased at her sister’s solution of the 
intricate case of conscience. 

“ You pray for my intention, Agnes, and I’ll go 
around among the poor and the sick, and bring them 
some good things to eat. I am sure if we both work 
together in that way a change will soon come over 
Jack.” 

Agnes turned away her head to hide a smile. Most 
younger sisters, had they been in her place, would have 
laughed at Gabrielle’s plan and bid her do battle for 
herself in the field of love. Agnes Crystal, however, 
was glad of the chance to rouse Gabrielle from the dis- 
couragement which she had noticed taking hold of her 
sister frequently of late, and so she entered heartily 
into her sister’s scheme, though in her own mind she 
had just a little scruple about praying for anything even 
remotely connected with love affairs. They were by 
choice a thing apart from her. She determined, there- 
fore, as a means of quieting her conscience, not to say 
any prayers that evening for her sister’s intention, but 
to lay the case before her confessor the following day, 
and see whether he would approve of her mixing up in 
such affairs. And so the matter rested when the girls 
had finished their walk. 

Early next morning, before the stillness of the house 
was broken by the noise of the milkman rattling the tin 
pail outside of the door, Gabrielle was actively engaged 
preparing some delicacies to bring to the sick whom 
Agnes visited. 


36 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ I’m going to remain home from work to-day,” she 
remarked as they both sat down at the breakfast-table, 
‘‘ so that I can bring a few dainties to those two sick 
children who live in that miserable house in Forsyth 
Street. I am sure the jellies and the chicken I have 
prepared will refresh the poor little things,” she added 
pathetically. 

” Oh, no ; don’t stay at home from work for that 
reason !” Agnes exclaimed ; ” this evening will do just 
as well. They are not suffering at present. Besides, 
Gay,” she continued, in a gentle, expostulating man" 
ner, ” you must try to be a little patient. Heaven 
doesn’t work in such a hurry.” 

Gabrielle, when she fully realized the humorous side 
of her impetuosity, threw her head back and laughed. 

” I am very naive ; don’t you think so, Agnes ?” 

” In some things perhaps,” Agnes answered ; ” but 
you are certainly impetuous.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


37 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ She only said, ‘ My life is dreary^ 

He coineth not, ’ she said. ’ ’ 

T N the evening when Gabrielle returned from work 
Agnes met her at the door. There was a gleam of 
pleasure in the younger sister’s eyes, which was sweet- 
ness to Gabrielle. 

“You have good news which concerns me, Agnes, 
haven’t you ?’’ Gabrielle asked, as she paused in the 
doorway. 

“Yes, I have ; how did you know ?“ 

“ I saw it in your eyes.’’ 

“ Can you guess what it is ?’’ 

“Hardly.” 

“Well, then, I must tell you. I found out to-day 
that it is quite proper for me to pray according to the 
intention which you proposed last evening.” 

“ Is that so ?” Gabrielle exclaimed, as she caught 
hold of her sister’s arm. “ How do you know? Been 
to confession ?” 

“ Come upstairs,” was Agnes’s answer, “ and I’ll tell 
you all about it, while I am getting the supper ready. 
Mamma and papa must have been delayed, as they have 
not yet returned.” 

The two girls ascended the short flight of stairs which 


38 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


led to their apartments. Gabrielle loosened her veil, 
and taking off her hat, sat down to rest and to listen, 
while her sister prepared the evening meal and related 
her experience. 

“ You know the little Polish church around the cor- 
ner ?” Agnes began. “Well, 1 made a visit there this 
afternoon, and I asked the old French missionary priest 
who has been stopping there for some time, to hear my 
confession. When I had finished I told him I had a 
scruple about a certain matter, and that I would like to 
have it settled. He told me to state it, so I laid my 
singular case of conscience before him.” 

“.What did he say ?“ Gabrielle inquired anxiously. 

“ He said — oh, those eggs will be altogether too 
hard !’’ exclaimed Agnes, just remembering that she 
had forgotten all about the eggs she had begun to boil 
before Gabrielle’s arrival. 

“ Never mind about the eggs,” Gabrielle protested ; 
“ I like hard-boiled eggs.” 

What she meant by that statement was, “ 1 like hard- 
boiled eggs better than suspense.” It was a question 
of two evils, so she chose what to her appeared the 
lesser. But not a word would Agnes utter until she 
had rescued the half dozen eggs from the saucepan and 
placed them safely in a dish. Being importuned several 
times by her impatient sister to begin, she started her 
story once more. 

“ As I was saying, I laid my case of conscience before 
the old missionary father, and he decided that it was 
no harm for me to pray for your intention. He even 


PASSING SNADOPVS. 


39 


Went further, and surprised me very much by saying 
that it would not be wrong for both of us to pray, not 
only for Jack to cease considering you a child, but also 
for him to return your love.” 

” Oh, the dear old priest !” Gabrielle exclaimed in 
admiration. ” Didn’t some one mention to us, Agnes, 
that the old French missionary stopping at the Polish 
church knew more theology than any priest excepting 
the Pope ?” 

Agnes could not remember ever having heard such a 
declaration, and she busied herself about the fire to 
hide her smiling face. 

” Did he say anything else ?” Gabrielle asked a little 
anxiously. 

” Yes ; after he had settled my scruples satisfactorily 
he said, ‘ My dear chile.’ ” Agnes’s imitation of the old 
priest greatly amused Gabrielle. ” Oh, that’s mean, 
isn’t it. Gay, for me to imitate such a good old man ? 
I won’t do it any more ; I’ll tell you what he said in 
good English.” 

” Tell me in any kind of language you like, only tell 
me quickly,” Gabrielle responded. 

” ‘ My dear child,’ he said, ‘ if it were not that I 
have so many prayers to say myself, I would be 
glad to offer up my poor prayers with you and your 
sister. But then I think the young man has a very 
poor chance to escape, with you two praying for 
him.’ ” 

Gabrielle interrupted the narrative herself this time, 
by laughing. 


40 


PASSING SNA no IV S. 


“ He must have enjoyed what you told him very 
much, Agnes.” 

“You would say so if you could have seen how he 
was amused when I told him my scruple. I could see 
his face wreathed in smiles as I peered through the 
framework of the confessional.” 

The supper was now ready, and the two girls sat 
down to eat it. 

“ When I was about to leave the confessional,” Agnes 
continued, “ he said to me, ‘ After you have caught 
your fish, 1 hope you will not forget to pray for a poor 
old man, who has got the rheumatism very bad since he 
came to your country.’ I promised him I wouldn’t for- 
get to pray for him, but I don’t think he needs any- 
body’s prayers. He looks just like one of those old 
saints one sees in pictures. The circle of snow-white 
hair around his head is for all the world like a saint’s 
halo.” 

“ Perhaps he is a saint,” remarked Gabrielle, who 
would have canonized him immediately if she had the 
power. 

Agnes shook her head and answered doubtfully, “ I 
don’t know ; it’s very hard to be a saint.” 

Gabrielle bubbled over with happiness on account of 
the confessor’s decision. 

“ I am sure,” she declared, emphasizing her words 
with a gesture, “ that I will never forget to pray for 
that dear old priest all my life — if I get what I want,” 
she added, as an afterthought. 

Agnes smiled at the condition. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


41 


“ But suppose your wishes are not satisfied, what 
then ?” she asked, as she helped her sister to another 
cup of tea. 

“ My dear,” Gabrielle answered, looking up at her 
with a smile, ” you must not be making such supposi- 
tions. It argues a want of faith. Are we not taught to 
pray always with the firm faith that we will get what 
we pray for ?” 

” Yes, that’s true ; but don’t you remember what the 
Gospel says, ‘ You do not get what you ask, because 
you ask amiss ’ ” 

Gabrielle hastened to swallow a spoonful of hard- 
boiled egg, and then replied, ” I know that text very 
well, but in this case the shoe doesn’t fit, because I am 
not asking amiss ; I am asking a Mister, and I’ll be 
broken-hearted if I don’t get him,” she added, as the 
smile that lit up her face for a moment was swept away 
by the look of sadness which followed. 

” Why, you’ve eaten three of those hard-boiled eggs, 
Gay !” exclaimed Agnes, holding up her hands in hor- 
ror. ” You always have a bilious attack after eating one ; 
I suppose you will now be afflicted with three attacks.” 

I never did agree very well with eggs,” Gabrielle 
admitted, crushing one of the shells in her hand, ‘‘ but 
I am not afraid of them any longer ; I have found an 
antidote. ” 

She put her hand in the pocket of her dress and drew 
out a package of chewing-gum. 

” I don’t see why any one wants to be afraid of hard- 
boiled eggs when one stick of this will digest two thou- 


42 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


sand five hundred grains of food.” She filled her 
mouth with the gum, and then smiling offered the pack- 
age to her sister. 

After Agnes had cleared the supper-table and finished 
the housework, she joined Gabrielle, who was seated at 
the piano in the parlor. 

The two girls had not been there long when a knock 
was heard. Gabrielle ceased her playing, and going to 
the door, admitted a young man. 

” O Jack,” she cried, ” I’m so glad you dropped 
in ! I have a couple of new songs from that funny 
opera, The Gondoliers, which I want you to sing to-night, 
before you and papa start those interminable games of 
chess.” 

The young man smiled at the allusion, as he picked 
up a sheet of music from the piano. ” How do you 
know that I came to play chess ?” 

” Oh, I know surely that you did. It’s the strangest 
thing how papa can always tell just the evening you are 
going to pay us a visit. Do you know,” she continued, 
half closing her eyes and looking up at him, ” I think 
that there must be some kind of mental telegraphy be- 
tween you and papa. It’s so odd how often we have 
instances of it. The last night you were here, for ex- 
ample, papa announced that he was going out on some 
business, and would not be home till near eleven 
o’clock ; and then suddenly, as if a current of elec- 
tricity had struck him, he changed his mind, and said, 
I think that I won’t go out, after all, as it is likely 
Jack Fulton will come in this evening.’ ” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


43 


“ Let me see,” the young man remarked thought- 
fully. ” About what time did your father make that 
guess ?” 

” About a quarter to seven o’clock, wasn’t it, Agnes ?” 
Gabrielle asked. 

“Yes,” Agnes replied, smiling ; “but you must re- 
member that our dining-room clock is just a quarter of 
an hour slow. It is necessary to take that fact into 
consideration if you go building up any theory.” 

“ That is a timely explanation, Agnes,” he said ; “ it 
fits in very well with what happened at one half minute 
past seven o’clock that evening. Just at that time I felt 
a peculiar burning sensation in my left ear. I did not 
mind it very much then, though I have often heard 
that when one’s ear burns, it is a sign the possessor of 
the burning ear is being talked about. I shouldn’t 
wonder. Gay, but what you are right in your theoiy. 
Your father began to think of me at seven o’clock sharp. 
At that hour the magnetic fluid left him, walked down- 
stairs, then up into my house, and reached my ear about 
one half minute after seven, making due allowance for 
the clock, which is fifteen minutes slow.” 

They discussed and laughed over Gabrielle’s theory, 
and then took to singing the new songs which in a short 
time would be the rage in the city. 

John Fulton still wanted several years of being thirty. 
His face was thin and dark. His soft brown mustache 
saved it from an ascetic look. He had met with a 
misfortune some years before, which affected him 
greatly, and for a time dried up his ambition. He had 


44 


PASSING SffADOlVS, 


prevailed on his father to give him enough money to 
start a little business in partnership with another young 
man. Soon after they opened their store, the trade 
began to shift from Grand Street to a district farther 
uptown, and in less than two years John Fulton had 
lost almost all of his invested capital. 

After this failure he applied for and obtained the 
position of letter-carrier, and now every morning he 
started out with that numerous band in gray, which 
brings tidings of joy or sorrow to the million and a half 
of people who live between the Battery and the Harlem 
River. 

He was an ideal letter-carrier. His early failure in 
business, though it discouraged him for a while, ended 
by making him more gentle, kind, and sympathetic. 
If he had entertained any idea of getting married, there 
were a dozen girls on the East Side who would have 
been willing to take him for “ better or worse.” His 
gentleness and a faculty he possessed of making 
bright and happy remarks to those he met as he went 
from house to house was the secret of his popu- 
larity. 

” Ah, Mamie,” he would say to the young girl who 
had just tripped down five flights of uncarpeted stairs 
in a big, dreary, badly kept tenement, ” this thing of 
getting love-letters won’t do !” And then, as he handed 
her the letter, he would add, ‘‘ I suppose there is no 
chance for a poor fellow like me ?” Thus it happened 
that many an unsuspected benediction fell upon him. 
The girls living in his district said, “Ain’t he nice?” 


PASSING SI/ADO JVS. 


45 


and the old women declared that “ he was a credit to 
his mother.” 

The two young people had not been singing very 
long together when Mr. Crystal, attracted by the sound 
of their voices, entered the room. He was now a man 
turned fifty years, with a liberal sprinkling of gray 
through his hair and long beard. 

” I thought you would be around to-night. Jack, 
looking for revenge on account of the way I swept your 
men off the board last Thursday evening.” Then turn- 
ing to his daughter, Mr. Crystal continued, ” Get the 
chess ready. Gay.” 

Gabrielle sighed wearily as she went to do her father’s 
bidding. 

When the table had been fixed for the game, the two 
men sat down and were soon busy at play. The girls 
took seats in the corner of the room, and Agnes read 
softly from a book, while Gabrielle knitted and occa- 
sionally made comments on what was read. The book 
that Agnes was reading was that pretty story which 
tells how Colette’s novena was answered in such a 
peculiar manner. 

” Perhaps if I were to imitate Colette, and to drop 
something on top of Jack’s head, it might be productive 
of good results,” said Gabrielle, giving her needle a 
rest. 

” Sometimes a sudden shock does make a great change 
in one,” answered Agnes, looking up from the book 
with a smile. 

” Yes,” Gabrielle said, ” I have read of deaf people 


46 


PASSING SI/ADOIVS. 


getting back their hearing and of insane people recov- 
ering their reason on account of an unexpected shock.” 

” But Jack is neither deaf nor insane.” 

‘‘ No, but he is blind though, or else he would see 
that I am no longer a child.” 

” How would you propose to administer the shock ?” 

” I don’t know, unless I would take the onyx clock 
on the mantel and drop it on his head as he passes out 
of the front door.” 

Mr. Crystal interrupted this interesting conversation 
by asking his eldest daughter to get him the box of 
cigars. 

Gabrielle put down her knitting and went eagerly to 
do as she was requested. The thought which flashed 
through her mind at the moment was, whether her sis- 
ter’s prayers would begin so soon to have an effect on 
John Fulton ; whether he would give any indication of 
the realization of the fact that she had arrived at 
woman’s estate. 

She took the cigars from off the mantel with a trem- 
bling hand, and coming over to the table, handed the 
open box to the young man. She watched him anx- 
iously as she did so. For the first few moments he bit 
his mustache and intently studied the chess-board, but 
did not notice her. When he had made his move he 
looked up, and seeing Gabrielle proffering the box, he 
exclaimed, ” Excuse me !” and then added abstract- 
edly, as his eyes returned to the board, ” You are a 
good little girl. Gay ; I don’t know what we would do 
without you. ’ ’ Gabrielle made no answer. She handed 


PASSING SNADOPVS. 


47 


the box to her father, and after he had helped himself 
she laid it back on the mantel. She was crushed. 

It was the same old story. She would always be a 
“ good little girl” in his eyes. 

‘‘ It’s a pity that I am not six feet high,” she said an- 
grily to her sister, as she threw herself into the chair ; 
” then at least he would have to drop the little. '' 

” Don’t get discouraged,” Agnes remarked sooth- 
ingly ; ‘‘ we have not been praying long enough.” 

” Oh, I cannot pray any longer ; I know he will never 
change,” Gabrielle answered bitterly, as she took up 
her knitting and strove to conquer the solitary tear of 
disappointment which was struggling to free itself and 
roll down her cheek. 

” Do try to be a little patient. Gay. You don’t ex- 
pect a miracle, do you ?” 

” I don’t want a miracle,” Gabrielle answered, toss- 
ing the knitting into her lap ; ” I only want him not to 
be so stupid, and to find out that I am no longer a 
child. That isn’t much, is it ?” 

” No ; consideied in one way it isn’t much, but, then, 
is there anything in the wide world which you desire 
more at present ? Answer me truly now.” 

Gabrielle made no reply. 

” Considering your request from that standpoint,” 
the younger sister continued with her reasoning, ” it is 
quite a big favor you ask. So cheer up now, and don’t 
bring on a fit of the blues, which, you know, usually 
lasts three days, and ends in a sick headache.” 

Gabrielle remained silently looking down at the 


48 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


floor, not being able to find any answer to her sister’s 
logic. 

The game of chess continued for another hour, until 
the striking of ten o’clock warned the players that it 
was time to end their play. 

As John Fulton, about to take his leave, reached the 
door, he paused for a moment on the threshold, and 
turning to Agnes Crystal, said, with a smile, “ I think 
that Gay is growing. She is becoming quite a young 
woman.” Then he bade them all good-night and went 
down the stairs, humming one of the airs that Gabrielle 
had played that evening. 

Agnes raised her hand to the gas fixture and turned 
out the gas. As she did so she said to Gabrielle, “ It 
looks as if our prayers were beginning to have some 
effect.” And both girls giggled in the dark. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


49 


CHAPTER V. 

“ Get thee to a iiuttttery^ gol' 

I "'HE next morning’s mail brought a letter to Agnes, 
and after reading it she showed it to Gabrielle. 
It was signed “Clara Harkins,” and the writer asked 
Agnes to meet her at Gabrielle’s office in the afternoon 
and be ready to go driving. 

Clara Harkins was the only daughter of Gabrielle’s 
employer, and having, like Agnes, made up her mind 
to enter a convent, a close friendship had sprung up 
between the two girls. It was a custom with Agnes to 
drop in often to see Gabrielle, and sometimes to help 
her with her work. Clara Harkins came to the office 
occasionally to see her father, and in this way met 
Agnes Crystal. Having the same end in common in 
life, they naturally grew fond of each other. 

It was a high, shaft-like building overlooking Union 
Square in which Gabrielle worked. She had a cosy 
little office for herself, wherein she did typewriting and 
other work for Mr. Harkins. When she was not busy 
she watched the endless panorama of living beings on 
Broadway, or if it was summer, rested her eyes on the 
green trees and beds of bright flowers in the park. 

Early in the afternoon Agnes arrived at Gabrielle’s 
office, and a little later Clara Harkins drove up to the 


50 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


door, and entered the elevator which carried passengers 
up thirteen floors. Clara was taller than either Ga- 
brielle or Agnes. What one noticed about her was 
rather her dignity than her beauty. She walked erect, 
and her head was well poised on a long, shapely neck. 

She greeted her father in his office, and after a few 
moments’ conversation with him, came into the smaller 
office, where the girls were awaiting her. Her eyes 
brightened with a pleased expression as she entered, 
making quite a contrast to the worried look on her face 
while she was talking to her father. 

“ Perhaps it’s selfish of me to take Agnes away from 
you. Gay,” she said, after they were chatting awhile, 
” you both look so comfortable sitting here together.” 

” I have no objections to being relieved of her com- 
pany,” Gabrielle answered, giving her typewriting 
machine a toss back, so as to get ready for a new line. 
” She is taking up my employer’s time, and, as far as 
I can see, no good is coming of it.” 

” I think we need have no scruples now about going, 
after such a plain declaration,” Agnes said, rising from 
her seat and moving toward the door. 

They left Gabrielle to continue her typewriting, and 
entered the carriage which was waiting for them. Clara 
instructed the coachman to drive up Fifth Avenue. 

The carriage swung along the side of the park, and 
leaving Broadway, with its crush of people, was soon on 
its way uptown. 

” I wanted badly to have a chat with you,” Clara 
said as the carriage left the rough stone pavement of the 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


51 


side street and rolled pleasantly over the asphalt of the 
avenue. “ I have had a most miserable week of it.” 

“ I am sorry to hear you say that,” Agnes replied, 
turning toward her companion with an anxious move- 
ment. ” What is the matter ; any new trouble ?” 

” No ; the old one,” she answered wearily. ” My 
brothers went out early last evening, and I thought it a 
good chance to have a talk with my father and mother, 
and see if I could not persuade them to give me their 
consent to become a nun.” 

” How did they take it ?” Agnes asked. 

” Frightfully ! Father stormed, and declared that 
he would rather see me dead than in a convent. Mother 
cried and said that I had no love for her, else I would 
not be so anxious to abandon her now that she is ad- 
vanced in life. I fought it out as well as I could, using 
all the arguments I knew, but it was no use. They 
simply will not hear of it.” 

” Isn’t it strange,” said Agnes, her face showing 
astonishment, ” that they oppose your entering a re- 
ligious life ? Now, my father and mother will feel very 
lonesome when 1 leave them, but they would not for an 
instant think of preventing my going.” 

” Fortunately for you, Agnes,” Clara replied, letting 
her head fall back despondingly against the soft cush- 
ion, ” your father and mother are religious people, and 
are actuated by motives different from the ones which 
actuate my parents. My father, though he was bap- 
tized a Catholic, never goes to any church ; and my 
mother has always had the strangest religious ideas im- 


52 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


aginable. My brothers follow my father, and, of course, 
I cannot expect any sympathy from them.” 

” What a pity your parents won’t give you your free- 
dom in the matter !” said Agnes sadly. 

” Yes, it is a great pity,” Clara answered. 

” There is nothing to do but to have patience and to 
pray.” 

Clara nodded. ” Of course I could go against their 
wishes, but I don’t want to do that, at least until I am 
driven to it. I had a letter from one of the sisters of 
the convent the other day, and she counsels me to be 
patient and wait awhile, and see if I cannot win my 
father’s and mother’s consent.” 

‘‘ That is the best course to follow, I believe,” Agnes 
assented; “perhaps some unexpected change may 
come over them.” 

“ I hardly think so.” 

“ Did you tell them that if you remained in the world 
and married you might make an unhappy marriage 
and be miserable all your life ?” 

“ Yes,” Clara answered ; “I have told them that 
many times, but it has no effect upon them. Mamma 
says that if I married and the marriage was a failure, 
I could come back and live with her ; whereas if I enter 
a convent I am lost forever.” 

“You should have answered your mother that if you 
became a nun you would be taking a step by which 
you would be saved forever.” 

A faint smile played about Clara’s lips for a moment. 

“Well, there is one consolation,” Agnes continued 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


53 


after a pause, “ you will be well schooled in the virtue 
of patience before the time you reach the convent door. 
That will be a great advantage. In making my spir- 
itual reading a few days ago, I came upon a passage 
which spoke of the great necessity of patience in one 
intending to become a religious.” 

‘‘ Yes, this cross of mine brings that consolation. No 
doubt, I will be a better nun for this experience — that 
is, if I ever have the happiness of becoming one,” she 
added doubtfully and wearily. 

Agnes, noticing her despondency, exclaimed, ” Oh, 
that is a sure thing to my mind ! Our Lord is only allow- 
ing you to be tried now ; He has great things in store for 
you. I shouldn’t wonder if He intends you for a Mother 
Superior, and that is why you are being fire-tried.” 

Clara smiled, saying with a shake of her head, ” I 
don’t want to be a Mother Superior ; just an ordinary 
work-a-day nun will do very nicely.” 

Agnes laughed at a recollection. 

” That reminds me that I said the same thing not long 
ago to a priest who had told me that I would one day 
be at the head of a convent. I assured him that I did 
not aspire so high. ‘ Not at present,’ he said, ‘ but 
when you are a nun about six months you will have a 
great struggle to keep out of your mind the thought of 
how much better it would be for the convent if the 
Mother Superior would only take a long vacation and 
turn things over to you.’ ” 

The carriage had rolled rapidly along the avenue, and 
they were now in sight of the Cathedral, its tall marble 


54 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


towers standing out gracefully against the soft blue 
summer sky. 

“ Suppose we stop at the Cathedral and make a little 
visit to the Blessed Sacrament,” Clara proposed. 

This was a daily practice with Agnes, and she gladly 
assented. The driver was instructed to draw up in 
front of the church. As the girls passed in, there were 
several little groups of people, evidently not Catholics, 
standing and looking about with a mixture of curiosity 
and admiration. Farther down, a few people were scat- 
tered about kneeling in prayer. At the side of the 
church a priest was baptizing a baby, which was crying 
lustily. The two girls crossed in front of the high 
altar, and made their way to a side chapel, in which a 
light was burning. They knelt there for a quarter of 
an hour in silent prayer for the same intention — that 
Clara Harkins’s day of tribulation would be shortened. 
When they returned to the carriage Clara was in a hap- 
pier state of mind and a livelier humor. Praying had 
evidently renewed her hope and courage. 

” I am so glad you came with me, Agnes,” she said, 
” and that we made that visit ; I feel so much better 
for it. Sometimes I am so wretched that I am tempted 
to give up altogether my idea of entering the convent.” 

” Oh, you must never think of doing that !” Agnes 
exclaimed with some feeling. ” Those also serve, you 
know, who only stand and wait.” 

” Yes, that is my great consolation. I thought of 
having those words printed on a card and then hanging 
them on the wall over my bed, so that every morning 


PASSING SIIADOIVS. 


55 


they would catch my eye. It’s generally in the morn- 
ing that I feel most miserable.” 

‘‘ That’s always the case with those who are in 
trouble. The morning unravels the kriit-up sleeve of 
care.” 

Before Agnes had finished speaking a man on a spir- 
ited horse came riding down the avenue, and his eye, 
roving over the long line of passing carriages, caught 
sight of Clara Harkins. He lifted his hat and bowed 
profoundly as he passed along. 

” That is a gentleman by the name of Mr. Parker. 
He is a friend of my father’s,” Clara explained. 

” Yes,” answered Agnes ; ” I have seen him talking 
to your father several times when I visited Gay.” 

” That’s the same man. My father has the greatest 
respect for him. He is said to be worth over five mil- 
lion dollars.” 

Agnes raised her eyebrows with astonishment. 

” He is a widower, too. Gay tells me.” Agnes ex- 
plained that Gabrielle had noticed crepe on his hat, and 
had not rested until she learned that he was alone in 
the world. 

” Yes, he is a widower,” Clara answered ; ” and for 
that reason my parents are much interested in him. 
One day, about a month ago, he took dinner with us 
and remained a good part of the evening. After he 
was gone my father turned to my mother and said, 
‘ Wouldn’t Mr. Parker make a splendid husband for 
Clara ? ’ My mother folded her hands in her lap and 
answered, with evident satisfaction, ‘ I could hope for 


56 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


nothing better.’ ‘ Clara will continue losing time in 
impracticable dreaming about convents,’ my father con- 
tinued, ‘ and in the meantime some shrewder girl will 
set her cap for Mr. Parker and his five millions, and 
live ever afterward in a land flowing with milk and 
honey.’ ” 

“ They surely wouldn’t expect you to marry him 
simply for his riches !” interrupted Agnes, in a tone 
indicating horror. 

“ I really don’t know what they expect. I made an 
excuse to leave the room,, and let them settle it between 
themselves.” 

The carriage had turned into Central Park, and the 
fresh air, blowing along the avenues lined with trees, 
was so delicious, that they drove far into the Park before 
Clara thought of looking at her watch to see what time 
it was. When she did so, she was surprised to find that 
it was late, and she hastily gave orders to the coachman 
to turn back, as she had promised to take her father 
home. 

” We have had such a pleasant afternoon. Gay,” 
Clara exclaimed, as she entered the office where Ga- 
brielle was hard at work. ” I am so sorry you were not 
with us !” 

Gabrielle lifted her fingers from the typewriting 
machine and answered, ” So I heard.” 

” So you heard !” Clara repeated in surprise, with 
questioning eyes. 

” Yes ; Mr. Parker was here a half hour ago, and I 
heard him tell your father that he had met you, and 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


57 


that he had never before seen you looking so happy and 
so lovely.” 

Mr. Parker, it will be remembered, met the girls just 
after they had finished their prayers in the Cathedral, 
and Clara felt at that moment happier than she had 
for a long time. She had gone through a great 
deal of worry for more than a year, and from being a 
girl of a naturally happy disposition, she had become 
morose and sad, and the effect of the long strain which 
had been put upon her showed in her countenance. 

” Mr. Parker is certainly complimentary,” Clara an- 
swered. 

” Yes ; and he is a widower, too.” Gabrielle turned 
her head to one side and there was a smile in her 
eyes. 

” You smile. Gay, when you mention the fact 
that Mr. Parker is a widower. That is rather a sad 
fact.” 

” I cannot help smiling,” said Gabrielle, ” when I 
think of Mr. Parker’s enthusiasm. Positively he seemed 
to grow ten years younger. Miss Harkins, at the thought 
of you.” 

Mr. Harkins tapped a bell summoning Gabrielle. 

” I wonder,” said Clara, after a moment’s reflection, 
turning to Agnes, ” if Mr. Parker could be so foolish as 
to think anything of me. I know that if he does, and 
speaks to my father and mother, that they will favor 
him. And that will be a new misery for me.” 

Before Agnes could reply Gabrielle threw open the 
door, and noticing the sad expression on Clara’s face 


58 


PASSING SNADOlf'S. 


said, “ I hope, Miss Harkins, that you did not take my 
words seriously. I only meant them in pure fun.” 

Clara smiled and tried to make little of the matter, 
but Agnes and Gabrielle understood that Mr. Parker 
was beginning to loom up as another possible affliction. 


PASSING SffADOlVS. 


59 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ While working sadly by my window I pricked my finger ^ 
and the white fiower that I was e7tibroidering became a red 
fiowerP 

T he days slipped by, and John Fulton’s eyes gave 
no more signs of opening. In several ways he 
had unconsciously offended Gabrielle by his manner. 

“ I have rights the same as other people,” she angrily 
asserted one day to Agnes, ” and Jack must learn to 
respect them. I don’t care whether he thinks anything 
of me or not, but I do insist very much that he treat 
me as a lady.” 

” Oh !” exclaimed Agnes, to whom her sister’s words 
seemed harsh, ‘‘ you don’t mean to say that Jack could 
do anything ungentlemanly ?” 

” I didn’t say that,” Gabrielle answered rather 
coldly. 

” You spoke of him not treating you as a lady.” 

” Yes, I did, but I did not mean by that to imply that 
he was not a gentleman. I simply meant that I have 
the rights of a woman, and should be addressed as one, 
and not as a child.” 

Agnes apologized for not understanding. 

About the middle of August Gabrielle’s vacation of 
three weeks began, and Mrs. Crystal decided on going 


6o 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


out of the city for a rest during the time that her 
daughter was free. 

Every morning for a week the whole family read and 
re-read the many advertisements of hotels and farm- 
houses which filled the New York papers. They dis- 
cussed the benefit of sea-bathing as compared with the 
good to be derived from the air of the mountains. The 
reading of the numerous advertisements brought back 
to their minds happy recollections of former experiences 
during summer vacations, and made the week of antici- 
pation almost as pleasant as the realization. 

After much thought and talk they decided that the 
breeze from the East River gave them enough sea-air, 
and that it would be more beneficial to try life on a 
farm in the Catskill Mountains. 

When John Fulton heard the decision, he made up 
his mind to apply for a vacation and go with them. 

The evening before their departure the young man 
came to announce that he had received a leave of ab- 
sence, and would be glad to accompany them. On 
inquiring for the girls, Mrs. Crystal told him that they 
were sitting down in the yard, trimming straw hats to 
wear while in the country. He went downstairs and 
found them both seated at a table in a pretty little arbor 
covered with a fragrant honeysuckle vine. 

Mrs. Crystal’s garden was the wonder of the neigh- 
borhood, and a constant delight to all those who could 
see it from their back windows. A large magnolia- 
tree which grew near the back fence blossomed glori- 
ously every summer and threw a welcome shade during 


PASSING SIIADOM^S. 


6i 


the hot afternoons. High bushes grew along the fence, 
and in the middle of the yard a huge bed of many-col- 
ored flowers, encircled by a grass-plot, completed this 
refreshing oasis in a desert of outhouses, fire-escapes, 
clothes-poles, clothes-lines, and hanging linen. Mrs. 
Crystal attended very faithfully to her flowers, especially 
to the honeysuckle vine, for was it not under one she 
was standing when her husband came up the road to 
claim her for his bride ? 

As soon as John Fulton entered the vine-covered 
arbor, Gabrielle laid down the hat she was trimming, 
and drew up a chair for him at the table where she and 
Agnes were sitting. 

“ Agnes and 1,” she remarked, as she sat down again 
and took up her needle, “were just talking about life 
on a farm. We spent one summer at a farm-house, and 
I believe it was about the most enjoyable vacation we 
ever had.” 

“ Suppose you go on with the conversation,” he re- 
plied, as he sent the smoke from a freshly lighted cigar 
to the top of the arbor, to mingle with the heavy aroma 
of the honeysuckle. “ If your description pleases me. 
Gay, perhaps I may buy a farm, turn farmer, and en- 
gage you and Agnes as dairymaids. I am sure I could 
make a living raising geese and chickens, and selling 
them to Mr. Cohen, the butcher in Orchard Street, who 
kills fowl in the kosher way.” 

His proposition gave great pleasure to Gabrielle, but 
she would have been still more delighted if he had said 
that he might buy a farm and make her the dairymaid, 


62 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


suppressing all mention of her sister. Such a wish she 
did not feel was selfish, because Agnes thought of Jack 
only as an old friend, while she really loved him. 

At John Fulton’s solicitation Gabrielle described to 
him the fun which they had had during the vacation 
they spent on the farm. She told of how she had tried 
horseback-1 iding on an old white horse which was wait- 
ing for the kind hand of death to lead him to the place 
whither good horses go, of how she had mastered the 
art of making butter, and had driven a mowing-machine, 
and cut down an acre of hay. Then she had milked 
cows, fed chickens, and had seen their little heads 
chopped off. “ Oh, it was all perfectly delightful !” 
she exclaimed, as she bit a piece of thread from the 
spool, “ except one thing.” 

“What was that?” he inquired, noticing how her 
voice had changed and how sad her face looked. 

“ The only thing that jarred on me and put me out 
of conceit a little with a farmer’s life, was being a wit- 
ness one day of the slaughter of a poor lamb. Oh, it 
was too cruel ! I saw the farmer snatch it up from among 
the others. I heard its painful bleating. It seems to 
me now that the cruelty of the thing must have fas- 
cinated me. I watched the old hardened executioner 
until he had fairly laid his big shining knife on the poor 
little thing’s throat, and after that I remembered no 
more, except that I was so ill that evening that I could 
not eat my supper.” 

Agnes, who had been busy during her sister’s recital, 
ripping out some wrong stitches, now interrupted her, 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


63 


saying with a laugh, “ I remember the night well, Gay. 
You nearly frightened me to death, calling out in your 
sleep, ‘ The knife, the knife ; oh ! oh ! oh ! ' ” 

After 'ohn Fulton and Agnes had enjoyed a laugh at 
Gabrielle’s expense, she continued, “ I don’t mind eat- 
ing a chicken which I have seen killed, but it’s really 
inhuman to butcher a dear little lamb. You may be 
certain that when they served roast lamb for dinner a few 
days afterward that I did not eat any meat at that meal.” 

‘‘ But when you came back to the city,” John Fulton 
urged, ” you surely became reconciled again to eating 
roast lamb.” 

” Not at all,” she quickly replied. ” No one need 
ever place a leg of roast lamb before me at table, be- 
cause just as sure as I would put a piece of it into my 
mouth, I would hear the sorrowful bleating of that poor 
creature I saw slaughtered ; and excuse me from being 
haunted by the cries of the dying, even if they are only 
lambs.” 

” You wouldn’t mind, though. Gay,” said he, urging 
her still further, ” if a dish of lamb stew was placed 
before you ?” 

” Oh, no ; lamb stew is different”— she was very 
fond of the lamb stew her mother made. ” You could 
not possibly connect lamb stew with a dying lamb.” 

Agnes took a hand in the questioning. 

” How is it. Gay,” she asked, ” that you are so afraid 
of being haunted by the ghosts of dead lambs that you 
won’t eat roast lamb ; while, on the other hand, you 
never seem to be able to get enough of roast chicken ?” 


64 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ Oh, chickens haven’t ghosts,” Gabrielle responded 
disdainfully, with a shake of her head. 

But Agnes was not to be put off so easily. 

” I don’t see how you make that out. If there are 
lamb-ghosts, there must be chicken-ghosts.” 

” Well, suppose there are,” Gabrielle replied a little 
impatiently and contemptuously ; ” who would be 

afraid of a little chicken-ghost ?” 

There was a loud laugh, and Mrs. Crystal, sitting at 
the open window of her room, said to her husband, 
” Gay must be letting herself loose again.” 

” You are a woman, Gay,” John Fulton remarked, 
after his laughing fit was over, ” with a woman’s logic.’’ 

Just then a cat on the back fence began moaning like 
a child in pain, making the two girls nervous. John 
Fulton rose to throw a stone at it, and when rising laid 
on the table beside Gabrielle his open knife, with which 
he had been cutting the end off a new cigar. A moment 
after he had sent the cat along the fences to annoy 
people living farther down the street, he heard a cry 
from the arbor, and hastening back, found Gabrielle 
pale and frightened. She had not noticed the open 
knife, and accidentally struck her hand against it. The 
blood flowed freely from a cut in the middle of her 
hand. 

” Come over here. Gay,” John Fulton said, leading 
her to a small pump near the fence. The cold water 
which she drank and allowed to run on her wounded 
hand soon revived her. They returned to the arbor, 
and the young man taking out a sheet of court-plaster 


PASSING S/IADOfVS. 


65 


from his pocketbook, cut off a thin strip and cov- 
ered the wound. Then for a moment he held the 
poor hand with the gash showing through the plaster, 
and raising it to his lips kissed it, as he would have 
kissed the hand of a child. When she looked up at 
him and saw the great tenderness in his eyes, she was 
not sorry that the accident had happened. 

After the little party in the arbor had broken up, and 
Gabrielle was standing before the long mirror in the 
parlor admiring her new hat, the sight of the injured 
hand sent a thrill of joy through her. She thought of the 
look in Ills eyes. She reasoned on his words, “You are 
a. woma;i, Gay, with a woman's logic.” “ He certainly 
did not mean that as a compliment,” she argued with 
herself, as she tilted the hat from side to side on her 
head ; “ but, anyhow, the last time we met he said I 
was growing, and to-night he called me a woman.” 

She smiled in the glass as she gave a final touch to 
the hat, but whether it was because of the pleasure she 
took in the new hat or for other reasons, it is hard to 
say. One would have to be a psychologist to know 
some things. 


/ 


66 


PASSING SHADOOFS. 


CHAPTER VII. 


“ O^, would I were dead now. 


Or tcp in my bed now. 
To cover my head now. 
And have a good cry." 



HE next morning Mrs. Crystal, her two daughters, 


and John Fulton sat in the 10,30 train as it moved 
slowly out of the Grand Central Station. The air 
within the enclosure was heavy and wet, and the smoke 
from the puffing engines, like a low cloud, brushed the 
tops of the cars. The run through the long, unpleasant 
tunnel was made quickly enough, and when the train 
reached the Hudson River the late sun had flooded the 
Palisades on the New Jersey shore. 

“How much did you say the tickets cost, Jack?” 
Gabrielle inquired. 

“ Thr’ee dollars and a half, each.” 

“ Dear me ! No, dear tickets, I mean. I think I’ll 
have to have a drink of ice-water after that.” 

“ Do sit down. Gay !” Mrs. Crystal exclaimed. 
“ You jump around worse than — ” 

“ Worse than a hen on. a hot griddle, mamma. Don’t 
be ashamed to complete the sentence. That’s one of 
papa’s expressions. Jack. He brought it over from the 
‘ County Mayo, long, long ago.’ Sometimes he varies 


PASSING SHABOIVS. 


67 


it and calls me a crapaud^ which are the only two 
French words he carried home from Canada, where he 
made love to mamma.” 

Mrs. Crystal smiled at the recollection, and Gabrielle 
took advantage of her good humor to jump up and go 
for a drink. 

” Three dollars and a half each, did you say. Jack ? 
Well, ITl drink all I can, so as to get my money’s 
worth.” 

The train rattled along rapidly, swinging from side 
to side with its speed. The wide river lay quiet in the 
sunshine. 

A crowded excursion boat cut through the calm 
water, and one or two shining yachts passed by, carry- 
ing their millionaire owners from their country resi- 
dences to Wall Street. Village after village was left 
behind, and after a few stops the train arrived at Rhine- 
cliff, where there is a ferry connecting with trains on 
the opposite shore of the river. 

The ride up the mountains did not seem long to girls 
who had never been in the midst of mountains before, 
and in a seemingly short time the puffing train 
reached a level track and wheeled them into the little 
station. 

The farmer at whose house they were to stop met 
them with a three-seated mountain wagon, drawn by a 
pair of rusty-looking horses. The two girls sat together 
on the back seat, speculating as to what kind of a home 
they were going to have during the next few weeks. 
Whatever doubts they may have had were dispelled 


68 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


when the old farmer drew up his horses, and with evi- 
dent pride pointed out his house to the new boarders. 

It was a long, low white cottage, built on the side of 
the mountain, about half a mile distant from the upper 
end of the village. The wide porch running around it 
was well shaded by vines. Rose-bushes grew near the 
entrance at either side. The gravel walk leading up to 
the door was fringed with shining pink conch-shells. 
In the centre of the lawn, which ran down to the road, 
stood two huge trunks of trees filled with flowering 
plants. Back of the house, sloping upward toward the 
mountains, extended a well cultivated and well-stocked 
farm of about sixty acres. 

“ I think this will be a delightful place,” Gabrielle 
whispered to John Fulton. ” I believe we shall have as 
good a time as we had on that farm 1 was telling you 
about last night.” 

The old farmer went to relieve Agnes of some of the 
bundles which filled her arms, 

” Do you keep lambs on your farm, or rather do you 
slaughter them ?” she asked, as he relieved her of a few 
of her bundles. 

John Fulton laughed, and Gabrielle pretended not to 
hear. 

” No, miss,” the old man answered with a chuckle, 
” we don’t keep no lambs here to kill. The only lambs 
we farmers in this township slaughter be the ones that 
come to us as boarders.” 

The little party were soon at home amid their new 
surroundings. For the first few days they did nothing 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


69 


else but rest and nourish themselves with the pure air 
of the mountains, so refreshing to those who live in that 
section of New York City which is bounded by the 
Bowery, Grand, and Houston streets. 

Toward evening of the third day after their arrival an 
incident occurred which brought great sorrow and ulti- 
mately great misery to Gabrielle Crystal. She had 
been lazily rocking herself in the corner of a room look- 
ing out on the porch, and was beginning to doze, when 
she was awakened by the sound of voices. John Fulton 
and a young lady, who was the niece of the old farmer, 
met on the porch near the open window where Gabrielle 
was sitting. She could not see them, but as everything 
was quiet about the house, she plainly heard what they 
said. She had no intention of eavesdropping, and in 
fact was about to put her head out of the window and 
make known her presence, when she heard the young 
lady mention her name. One remark led to another, 
till finally the farmer’s niece made so bold as to speak 
of Gabrielle as the future wife of the young man. John 
Fulton laughed at her woids, and answered that there 
was not the slightest fear that anything like that would 
ever come to pass. Then Gabrielle rose from her chair, 
mechanically gathering up her knitting which had fallen 
to the floor, and going to her room, flung herself upon 
her bed in an agony of tears. Hope died in her heart. 
If she could have taken the evening train to New York 
City, she would have done so ; but to follow such a 
course would be to reveal her secret. The first agony 
of her grief over, her pride and anger gave her strength. 


70 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


She rose from the bed and bathed her eyes and smoothed 
her disordered hair. Supper found her at her place, 
and even her sister Agnes did not notice any change in 
her. Once or twice afterward in the solitude of her 
own room her spirit failed her, and she thought to go 
to her mother and ask permission to return to the city ; 
but her better judgment prevailed, and she kept her 
trouble hid from every one. 

They had been almost a week at the farm-house when 
John Fulton said one morning, “ I think we have been 
imitating Rip Van Winkle long enough ; suppose now 
we try to climb the mountain.” 

He was sitting on the west side of the porch, looking 
up at the mountains. Gabrielle and Agnes were knock- 
ing croquet balls indiscriminately about the lawn — every 
farm house that accommodates boarders has a croquet 
set. 

” Let us climb to the top of that mountain just op- 
posite,” Agnes answered, as she held one foot on a ball 
and with a vicious stroke sent another cutting through 
the grass. ” There is a road back of the house which 
leads up to it. Only yesterday I saw a number of peo- 
ple going that way.” 

The proposition was readily adopted. They provided 
themselves with imitation alpenstocks, which were for 
sale in the village, and began their journey, Mrs. Crys- 
tal promising to watch them as they ascended the 
mountain. 

The road commenced in a narrow lane or cow-path. 
Higher up it led them through a stretch of sloping 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


71 


green field, in which a number of white, black, and 
mottled cows were grazing. A wily young farmer’s lad 
had built a shed over a well near the path, in which he 
kept fresh, cool milk to sell to mountain-climbers, at five 
cents a glass. At the end of the field the mountain 
proper began. 

“ I used to think,” Gabrielle remarked, ” that moun- 
tain-climbing was difficult and tiring. I find it, on the 
contrary, very easy and not the least fatiguing.” 

At the beginning of the road leading up the moun- 
tain the interlacing branches of the trees made a pleas- 
ant shade. A few moments after Gabrielle had de- 
livered herself of these sentiments the shade of the 
trees ended, the road became steep and rocky, and the 
hot sun beat down mercilessly. 

This state of things lasted about half an hour, and 
when at length they reached the shade of a few high 
bushes, Gabrielle threw herself on the ground exhausted, 
and convinced that mountain-climbing was the hardest 
and roughest kind of work. From where they were 
resting in the shade, a white sign-post was visible farther 
up the mountain. 

” Let us reach that spot,” Agnes said, ” and then we 
can feel satisfied that our climb has not been a total 
failure. ” 

Once more they began their journey, and at last 
came in sight of the white sign-post, on which was 
printed in black figures, ”11 miles to the top of the 
mountain.” 

The low growl of a dog startled them as they were 


72 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


reading in astonishment the great number of miles that 
they would yet have to climb before reaching the top. 
Turning around to look in the direction whence the 
noise came, they saw a young man reclining on a bench 
and smoking a huge brierwood pipe. A Newfoundland 
dog lay crouching at his feet. The sound of voices and 
the growling of the dog aroused the occupant of the 
bench. He raised his head lazily to see who might be 
passing, and when he saw a pretty pair of black eyes 
staring at him in wonder, he rose more quickly from his 
resting-place, stepping heavily on the foot of the poor 
brute at his side. The next moment he exclaimed, 
“ Hello, Fulton ! how did you get up here ?” 

John Fulton uttered a cry of surprise as he came over 
to take the outstretched hand of the young man, saying 
at the same time, “ This looks like a foolish way for 
a letter-carrier to be resting his tired feet, doesn’t 
it ?” 

After they had exchanged greetings, the stranger was 
introduced to the two young ladies as Mr. Bryce. 

“ You are making for the top of the mountain, I sup- 
pose ?” said the young man with the dog, which had 
just ceased howling, and was sniffing in a dissatisfied 
manner the new-comers who had been the indirect cause 
of his suffering. 

“That was our intention’ at the time we started,” 
John Fulton replied, “ but we have gotten bravely over 
it. Farther down the mountain, while we were rest- 
ing, we began rehearsing all we remembered of our 
geography, and the nearest we could get to the defini- 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


73 


tion of a mountain was, that it is ‘ a body of land which 
begins and never ends.’ ” 

“ It is a good bit of a climb on a warm day like this,” 
responded the owner of the dog, hastily puffing at his 
pipe to renew the life of the fire in it ; ” but as you are 
so near the top now, you ought not to give up until you 
have reached it. ” 

Gabrielle, who had in the meantime been talking 
‘‘baby talk” to the poor dog and feeding him with 
crackers, broke into the conversation, saying, ‘‘ I think 
we have had about all the climbing we can possibly 
stand to-day. ‘ Eleven miles to the top,’ as the guide- 
post declares, is a trifle disheartening.” 

‘‘ Eleven miles to the top !” exclaimed the young 
man, who had quietly been watching with interest 
Gabrielle’s friendliness to his dog ; ‘‘ surely the guide- 
post doesn’t say that.” 

‘‘ Yes, it does,” Gabrielle assured him ; ‘‘if you look 
at it you will see for yourself.” 

They repaired to the spot where the sign was, and to 
his surprise the young man read, ‘‘ ii miles to the top 
of the mountain.” In a moment he understood the 
mistake. ‘‘ ‘ By their deeds ye may know them.’ That 
is the work of the summer boarder. The sign should 
read, ‘ i mile to the top of the mountain.’ If you ex- 
amine more closely you can distinguish a difference in 
coloring between the first figure and the second. Some- 
body printed the extra figure on the sign, for a joke.” 

The discovery consoled the weary mountaineers. They 
were glad to know that they had so nearly reached the 


74 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


summit. As soon, then, as Mr. Bryce offered to act as 
guide the rest of the way, Gabrielle accepted his offer 
in the name of the others. She was anxious to climb 
to the top, and besides she did not want to part com- 
pany with the dog, to which she had become greatly 
attached. 

So it came to pass that when the four young people 
continued their journey, Horace Bryce and Gabrielle, 
with the dog at her side, looking for more crackeis, led 
the way, while Agnes and John Fulton brought up the 
rear. 

“ My dog seems to have taken a great liking to 
you,” Horace Bryce remarked, beginning the conver- 
sation. 

” Yes,” answered Gabrielle, taking from her hand- 
bag another cracker ; “I have given him of my sym- 
pathy and crackeis, and he is returning the kindness in 
dog-love and caresses.” 

” It is an old proverb, ‘ Who loves me will love my 
dog also,’ ” he rejoined, puffing again viciously at his 
pipe ; ” but in my case it looks as if the dog came first. 
I’m mighty glad I took you along. Tiger,” he con- 
tinued, addressing the now happy dog ; ” if it were not 
for you, I am afraid Miss Crystal would not have been 
so anxious to have me as guide.” 

” Oh, yes, I would,” Gabrielle protested, trying to 
feed the dog and talk to her companion at the same 
time. “It was more than kind of you to give up your 
rest on that old bench, where you seemed to be so com- 
fortable, to prove to us weary travellers that a moun- 


PASSmC SHADOWS. 


75 


tain has a top. So please don’t think I do not appre- 
ciate your generosity.” 

“ Perhaps if I show you the same kindness you have 
shown to my dog you will think more of me,” he re- 
joined. 

” What do you mean ?” she asked. 

” I mean if I can bring you where you can eat and 
refresh yourself ; where you can feed on juicy mountain 
berries and drink of a mountain spring, that then, per- 
haps, when the supper-bell tolls the knell of parting 
day, you will have cause to remember not only a dog, 
but also its owner.” 

Gabrielle smiled and exclaimed, ” Oh, if you do 
that I shall be eternally obliged to you. Between the 
dry crackers I have been munching on my way up the 
mountain and the heat and the dust, I am suffering 
dreadfully from thirst.” 

” I’m glad to be able, then, to refresh you for your 
kindness to my dog,” he replied. ” By following that 
narrow path just above us, leading off the main road to 
the right, we shall come to a delicious spring of icy water 
and an abundance of large, ripe berries.” 

A little more climbing and they reached the side road 
on which the young man entered, parting the overhang- 
ing branches of bushes, while the rest followed him in 
Indian file. A short walk brought them to a clear spot, 
which was well shaded. It was a grassy amphitheatre, 
protected from the hot sun by tall trees, and enclosed 
by bushes weighed down with berries. From a rock 
water flowed in a thin, crystal stream. 


76 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


Horace Bryce took out of his pocket a small rubber 
cup, and filling it, gave the tired climbers a drink. 
Then the girls ate the berries. 

“ We have been blest in finding so good a friend,” 
Gabrielle said, addressing Horace Bryce, her pretty 
lips stained a deeper red from the berries. ” Our trip 
would have been only a reminiscence of heat and dust 
had we not met you. Now it will be a delightful recol- 
lection. Every time I hear the street-vender coming 
through Eldridge Street shouting, ‘ Heah y’are, nice 
berries, givin’ ’em away for ten cents a box ! ’ I’ll le- 
member your kindness, Mr, Bryce.” 

” ‘ Out of the abundance of the mouth the heart 
speaketh,’ ” he said, with a smile. 

” Oh !” exclaimed Gabrielle, pouting her berry- 
stained lips as she caught the meaning of his words, 
” that’s not fair to twist Scripture that way and put 
me on a level with your dog. I would have felt grate- 
ful even if you had not fed me and given me drink.” 

He blushed a little at her words and betrayed some 
embarrassment. ” I humbly apologize. I did not mean 
to put it so brutally as that. I could not resist the 
chance to try to make a little joke, but I see I have 
failed miserably.” 

Gabrielle noticed with surprise the effect of her words 
upon him, and immediately felt sorry for what she had 
said. This slight encounter and his apology made them 
still more friendly. 

The four young people gathered themselves together 
once more, and after a short walk reached the top. An 


PASSING SHADOIVS. 


77 


accommodating railroad had built an observatory out 
of logs on the summit of the mountain, for the use of the 
visitors who had paid ten cents a mile to reach the moun- 
tains on its cars. The tall wooden observatory, covered 
as it was with names, initials, and dates, resembled very 
much Cleopatra’s needle which stands so lonesome-look- 
ing in Central Park. The mountain winds had bleached 
the logs, so that the fibres of the wood were like threads 
of gray silk. Being assured that the observatory was per- 
fectly safe, the two girls managed to summon up enough 
courage to climb it, but more than once on their way 
up they repented of what they had done, as it swayed 
in the mountain winds like the masts of a ship in a 
heavy sea. 

However, when they reached its top they were well 
rewarded for their daring by the beautiful panorama 
which stretched out before them. Tall mountains 
loomed up all around the long valley. Miles away sev- 
eral large mountain hotels, bathed in a blue mist, were 
plainly visible. A collection of white tombstones 
marked the country churchyard. Peace, like the sun- 
shine, reigned everywhere. The cows grazed quietly 
in the pasture land below, and the village with its one 
road, along which a miniature-looking horse and wagon 
were jogging, seemed as silent and deserted as “ Sweet 
Auburn.” 

” I wonder whether we can see our house from here ?” 
said Gabrielle, letting her eyes roam over the wide 
territory. 

She had hardly uttered the words when Agnes pulled 


78 


PASSING SNA nows. 


out a handkerchief from her pocket and began waving 
it violently, exclaiming at the same time, “ There’s 
mamma ! there’s mamma !” 

Far below them, Mrs. Crystal was standing on the 
porch of the farm-house, furiously waving a white 
towel. She had been waiting there for several hours to 
catch sight of her children. 

This was a pleasant ending to a trip which would 
have been a failure had they not stumbled upon Horace 
Bryce. When they reached the foot of the mountain 
again, the sun had gone out of sight behind the hills, 
and the tinkling of a supper-bell in a neighboring hotel 
broke the silence which everywhere surrounded the 
mountain. 

The two girls were profuse in their thanks to the 
young man who had contributed so much to their 
pleasure. 

“ I wish you would come to see us at our quiet little 
home,” Gabrielle said, as she finished thanking him ; 
” it's a trifle dull sometimes.” 

” I shall be only too glad,” he replied ; ” I find my 
own hotel somewhat monotonous. If you don’t mind, 
I’ll drop over your way to-morrow morning. I always 
take a walk after breakfast.” 

Gabrielle assured him that they would be glad to 
welcome him. Then he raised his hat and went across 
the fields. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


79 


CHAPTER VIII. 

'■'Are we to mark this day with a white or a black stone?" 

' f ■'HE following morning, shortly after breakfast was 
finished at the farm-house, Horace Bryce with 
his dog and pipe came sauntering along the road. 
Agnes Crystal and John Fulton were inspecting the 
poultry-yard, while Gabrielle was sitting under an elm- 
tree, with a yellow-covered novel lying unopened in her 
lap. She was the first one to see the young man as he 
came up to the house, and she greeted him very cor- 
dially. He lifted his hat in an easy way that was char- 
acteristic of him, at the same time saying, “ I know I 
have not disturbed you in your reading, because when 
I arrived at the top of the hill I saw that the book was 
unopened, and that you were looking at the mountains 
and day-dreaming.” 

She drew up a rustic chair for him. The dog sniffed 
about a few moments, and then came and stretched 
himself at her feet. 

” No ; you did not interrupt m-e in my reading. 
The fact is, I have not yet opened the book. Jack 
bought it for me on the train, but I find it is so restful 
just to sit here and dream that I have not had any de- 
sire to read.” 

” That is precisely the way the mountains affected 


8o 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


me the first few days I was here, but during the last 
four days I have finished three novels, and all very 
queer ones they were. The first was a study in hyp- 
notism, the second, what is called, I believe, a psycho- 
logical novel, and the third one was about a man who 
lost his faith in religion in his early life and gained it 
again when he arrived at middle age. One never knows 
these days what he may stumble upon when he pays 
his fifty cents for a novel on a railroad train.” 

” Wouldn’t it be a safer course, then, to act according 
to the old proverb, ‘ When a new book comes out, read 
an old one ’ ?” 

” Oh, certainly, if one is seeking to gather knowledge 
and improve one’s mind. To stand by that advice 
would save much time and many disappointments ; 
but I find the most pleasure in buying a new book 
about which I know nothing, and passing my own 
ignorant judgment upon it, I read only for pleasure, 
and I find the greatest pleasure fishing in new streams. 
The fun is more exciting.” 

” But suppose that you hook a great many fish in suc- 
cession which are not fit to eat, doesn’t it grow dis- 
couraging ?” 

” Not as discouraging as you would imagine, for 
every time you find a book is a failure, you have the 
joy of casting it into the fire and heaping maledictions 
on the author. Besides, you can take a sweet revenge 
on the man who wrote the book by advising others not 
to buy it. Mind you, I do not contend that my way 
brings much profit, if any, to the intellect ; I only say 


PASSING SHADOJVS. 


8i 


that I get pleasure out of it, and, as I remarked before, 
amusement is all I expect from books.” 

“ Your way of acting, then, is altogether different 
from mine,” said Gabrielle. ” I never care to begin 
reading a book until some one else assures me that it is 
worth while reading. So, if you don’t mind, I wish you 
would read this novel first, and let me know if it is 
interesting.” 

He protested that he did not wish to deprive her of 
it, but on her urging he accepted, because he foresaw 
that it would give him a chance to call again. 

Almost from the moment that he had seen Gabrielle 
on the mountain he had been captivated by her. He 
found, too, that she improved on better acquaintance. 
She looked so pretty as she sat there under the elm-tree, 
dressed in white, with a band of pink ribbon about her 
throat. He was sure that never before had he seen 
such lustrous black eyes. Everything about her ap- 
pealed to him. Even the myriads of little ruffles on her 
dress, rippling like grass in the tremulous summer air, 
struck him as peculiar to her. 

Agnes Crystal and John Fulton, having finished talk- 
ing ” crops” to the old farmer, made their way over to 
the elm-tree. 

” The mail train has just come whistling through the 
valley,” John Fulton remarked, “and Agnes and I are 
going to the village to see if there are any letters for us. 
Do you two care to go ?” 

Gabrielle excused herself, saying that the walk up 
the mountain made sitting down a luxury, and Horace 


82 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Bryce said he left New York to get away from the mail. 
The letter-carriers therefore departed on the journey, 
leaving those enjoying the shade of the elm-tree to con- 
tinue their tete-a-tHe. 

“ Your sister does not resemble you very rnuch in 
looks,” Horace Bryce remarked, as he watched Agnes 
disappearing down the road. 

” No,” Gabrielle answered ; ” in hair, eyes, and com- 
plexion we are totally different. Agnes looks like papa, 
and I resemble mamma.” 

” She seems to be of a quieter disposition than you,” 
he continued. 

” Do you mean by that that she is more reserved,” 
Gabrielle asked, looking at his face quizzically ; ” that 
she does not become familiar so quickly with acquaint- 
ances of a day ?’ ’ 

” Oh, no !” he protested a little nervously. “ You 
jump at conclusions too fast. I have humility enough 
to make me see that I have been well received for my 
dog’s sake. Isn’t that so. Tiger ?” The dog threw 
up his head and wagged his tail at the sound of his 
name. ‘‘ I am appealing to you. Tiger, to decide if it 
is not true that I would not be sitting here this morn- 
ing if I had gone up the mountain without you yester- 
day.’ ’ 

The dog lazily stretched out his forefeet, and his 
raised head fell forward as he resumed the position 
from which he had been disturbed. 

” See his head bow down !” exclaimed Horace Bryce. 
” In dog language that means ‘ Yes.’ Tiger is one of 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


83 


the most truthful and candid dogs I ever knew,” he 
added, with a little laugh. 

” Oh, it was a mere accident that he bowed his head 
that time,” said Gabrielle. ” Watch me catechize him. 
Tiger, look me straight in the face.” The animal did 
as he was bid, opening and shutting his mouth and 
smacking his lips as if to say, ” More crackers.” 
” Now, Tiger, you must tell the truth,” she continued, 
leaning down and crossing one of his legs over the 
other. ” That signifies that you cross your heart to 
prove the truth of what you say.” 

This little comedy greatly delighted the young man, 
and his fondness for Gabrielle increased every moment. 

” On your word and honor. Tiger, as a dog, tell me 
if it is not true that your master would at this moment 
be sitting under this elm-tree, even if you had been 
down in the valley while he stood tiptoe on the misty 
mountain-top ?” 

” Tiger,” whispered Horace Bryce, and the animal 
turned his head toward him. 

” Tiger !” exclaimed Gabrielle, and back toward her 
went the dog’s head. 

” Here, Tiger,” he coaxingly said, and the dog turned 
in his direction. 

“Mind me^ Tiger!” she commanded, stamping her 
foot in mock anger, and Tiger did as he was com- 
manded. 

Between the solicitations of the one and the com- 
mands of the other, the poor brute became confused, 
and his head turned nervously from side to side. 


84 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


The young man had gained his point again, though 
at first Gabrielle did not understand the trick, 

“ You see,” he remarked, with a smile, ” Tiger says 
‘ No.’ When a man or a dog shakes his head from side 
to side, as Tiger did just now, that action signifies nega- 
tion, and judging from the number of times Tiger shook 
his head, he must intend to say ‘ No ’ very emphatically. ” 
” I suppose I ought to admit that I have been beaten,” 
Gabrielle responded, when it dawned upon her how she 
had been outwitted ; ‘‘ but I don’t acknowledge defeat 
at all. Dogs are not like men, they are more like 
women, who when they say ‘No’ frequently mean 
‘ Yes.’ I understand. Tiger,” she continued, patting 
his shaggy head, ” better than your master does the 
‘ yesness ’ of your ‘ no.’ ” 

The two friends of a day thus sat and chatted until 
the others arrived. After the letters were read and 
the morning papers glanced at, Horace Bryce, jumping 
up from his seat, said, ” By the way. Jack, you have 
been here about a week and you have not as yet enjoyed 
a mountain drive. Now, I propose that we take the 
young ladies for a long drive to-morrow. There are 
pretty falls about a dozen miles from here that you all 
ought to see before going back to the city ; besides, the 
drive is a cool and pleasant one„ The way to enjoy it 
luost is to start in the morning, take dinner at a hotel 
near the falls, rest a few hours, and return in the cool 
of the evening.” 

The two girls and John Fulton gladly accepted the 
invitation, and their visitor took his departure. 


PASS/JVG SHADOWS. 


85 


Before breakfast was over at the farm-house the next 
morning Horace Bryce came rattling along the road in 
a yellow-colored wagon. A heavy fall of rain during 
the night had settled the dust. Each blade of grass 
and tiny wild flower held its trembling drop of dew. 
The sun was fast dissipating the clouds which hung 
like silver drapery along the tops of the mountains. 
The air after the rain was cool and refreshing. 

Gabrielle took her place in the wagon beside Horace 
Bryce, and they started on their journey. 

The ride, as their friend had told them, was delight- 
ful. The green valley stretching away on both sides of 
the road, the high mountains flooded with sunlight, the 
ripening wheat, the fields white wdih barley or golden 
green with waving corn, the small flower-encircled cot- 
tages, the rushing mountain streams overflowing their 
banks because of the previous night’s rain — all added 
to the interest and charm of the drive. 

Most of the time, Gabrielle held the reins and Horace 
Bryce did the talking, pointing out the interesting ob- 
jects on the road. Once they stopped at a wayside 
trough to water the horses, and Horace Bryce, as he 
jumped down from the wagon, turned to Gabrielle, and 
remarked with a smile, “ I hardly like to stop, even for 
a moment. I wish we could go on, like Tennyson’s 
brook, forever.” 

Gabrielle’s eyes shone with pleasure, and she bowed 
her head as if to confirm his words. But she did not 
suspect then how serious were his thoughts. It was 
midday when they arrived at the hotel. After they had 


86 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


dined they walked down the well-shaded country road 
which led to the falls. 

Horace Bryce had put his camera into the wagon 
when starting, with the express intention of getting a 
picture of Gabrielle. The falls, though not very large, 
looked pretty as the mountain streams, swollen with 
rain, rushed over them. 

“ I won’t consider that we have had a perfect day, 
Miss Crystal, unless you let me take a snap-shot of 
you,” remarked Horace Bryce to Gabrielle, as he was 
adjusting the camera to the tripod. ” You would look 
a perfect poem standing across there, where the water 
tumbles in a silver spray over that rough ledge of rock. ” 

” Why, I shall be delighted to have my picture 
‘ took ! ’ Besides, I would much rather have the ‘ silver 
spray ’ falling on me than throw cold water on your 
desire.” She fixed herself in front of the camera as if 
in readiness. ” It doesn’t shoot, does it?” she asked, 
comically placing one eye against the lens of the instru- 
ment. 

‘‘ Yes, it does,” he replied, stooping down and gath- 
ering the wild flowers that were growing at his feet ; it 
shoots snap-shots. Some of them, too, are dangerous. 
They sometimes kill — friendship and love.” 

” How?” inquired Gabrielle. 

He paused in his work of gathering the flowers to tell 
her. 

” I have a friend,” he said, ” who some time ago in- 
vested in a camera. He was in love with a young lady, 
and one day he asked her to sit for a picture. She con- 


PASSING S//ADOPVS. 


87 


sented. A few days afterwards he brought the photo- 
graph to her in great joy, satisfied that he was a past- 
master in the art of photography. She looked at it for 
•a moment and then returned it, at the same time telling 
him that if he could not do any better work he ought to 
sell his camera and buy a bicycle. Her cutting sarcasm 
made him angry, and he up and told her that the pic- 
ture was a perfect one.” 

Do you mean to say that I have a mouth like 
that ? ’ she screamed, as she pointed to the picture. 

‘ If you think that, I don’t ever want to see you again,’ 
and she burst into tears and left him. It is three 
months now since the unfortunate accident happened, 
and the quarrel shows no sign as yet of healing.” 

” I hope,” said Gabrielle pleadingly, ” that there is 
no danger of us having a quarrel. If I imagined there 
was, I would not stand in front of this deadly machine 
for a moment.” 

He thought he detected a show of feeling in her 
words, and he was greatly pleased. He tied together 
with a string the wild flowers he had gathered and 
brought them to her. I want you to wear these as a 
remembrance of our trip.” He blushed as he said the 
words, and then added hastily to relieve his embarrass- 
ment, ” Besides, they will add to the picture.” 

Gabiielle looked very pretty standing against the 
rocks with the water dashing from above, and the spray, 
bright in the sunlight, falling all around her. Horace 
Bryce’s hand trembled as he pressed the button on the 
side of the camera, lest he might make a failure. John 


88 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Fulton and Agnes Crystal had wandered away, follow- 
ing the course of the running stream. They came back 
as Horace Bryce was finishing, and together with Ga- 
brielle made a group for the amateur photographer. 

It was a very happy party of young people that saw 
the moon rising directly in front of them as they bowled 
over the mountain road on their way home. 

Their laughter and song brought many a farmer’s 
child out of the house, to watch them as they went by. 
The moonlight fell softly on the mountains, which 
seemed to grow smaller, and the streams and creeks 
looked like silver ribbons. It was an ideal ending to an 
ideal day, thought Gabrielle, and she connected Horace 
Bryce in her mind with the moonlight and the moun- 
tains. The last train was just entering the village as 
they arrived, and a few moments later the two girls 
were in their mother’s arms. 

After eating heartily of a luncheon which Mrs. Crys- 
tal had prepared, Horace Bryce jumped into his wagon, 
and turning his horses’ heads, drove down the road. 
He let the animals walk slowly, and gave himself up to 
thinking. He remembered that once before he had 
been in love. At that time he was only nineteen. It 
was but a passing thing, however, and he had long ago 
forgotten all about it and the young giil who had been 
the cause of it. 

A little farther down the road he fell to moralizing. 
“ To think that I came up here for a week’s rest, and 
that now I am madly in love with a giil.” 

The off horse stumbled, and it was only by a dex- 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


89 


terous movement that its driver prevented it from 
falling. 

“ If I was superstitious now,” he said to himself, ” I 
might believe that my horse’s stumbling was a bad 
omen, a reminder that there is many a slip ’twixt the 
cup and the lip. ” 

Then he lashed the air above the horses’ heads and 
started them in a canter down the moonlit road, think 
ing what a good little wife Gabrielle Crystal would 
make. 

While he was driving along, Gabrielle sat rocking her- 
self in her room, listening to the sound of the water as 
it rushed over the stony bed of the creek. A great 
many thoughts were running through her mind. She 
was thinking of John Fulton’s words — that there was 
no danger of his ever marrying her — and they filled 
her heart with bitterness. 

Then the thought of Horace Bryce crowded out the 
thought of John Fulton, and as she rose from her chair 
she said half aloud to herself, ” He is awfully nice !” 
which words in the mouth of a girl may mean a great 
deal, as they also may mean very little, 


90 


PASSING SI/A pairs. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ But oh, she dances such a way ! 

No sun upo7i an Easter-day 
Is half so fine a sight ! ” 

M uch more of Horace Bryce’s time was passed at 
the little white house on the hillside than at his 
own hotel. The mornings were generally given to long 
walks, the afternoons to chatting under the old elm- 
tree, and the monotony of the evenings was relieved, 
now and again, by going down to the village to play 
ninepins, which is one of the few amusements in the 
mountains. 

The second Saturday night after the arrival of the 
Crystals a “ hop” was given at the Bryn Mawr House, 
at which Horace Bryce was stopping, and he had in- 
vited his friends to it. In the evening he came up to 
the farm-house to accompany them to his hotel. In his 
well-fitting dress suit he looked even more manly than 
in his ordinary neglige costume. 

He found John Fulton on the veranda, and they 
sat there and smoked until Gabrielle and Agnes were 
ready. Gabrielle was the first to make her appear- 
ance. • 

As she stood in the glare of the lighted hallway and 
bade him good-evening, Horace Bryce thought she ap- 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


91 


peared prettier than ever. Her red dress, in contrast 
with her olive skin turned to a darker shade by the sun, 
her large black eyes and black hair, made her look as 
if she had just stepped out of a Spanish picture. John 
Fulton, taking his cigar from his mouth, gazed at 
her with a satisfaction which was almost paternal, re- 
marking at the same time, “ Gay, if you had a pair of 
castanets, you would make a splendid Spanish girl.” 

” One of those,” she answered, laughing, as she came 
over to where the young men were sitting and sat down 
beside them, ” that one sees on the inside of boxes of 
raisins at the grocery store, I suppose you mean.” 

” I was just about to make the same remark that Jack 
has made,” Horace Bryce said, with pleasure showing 
in his eyes. ” I think I will introduce you to my friends 
at the hotel as ‘ Senorita Dolores Mercedes Gonzales, 
of Seville.’ ” 

” If the sun keeps on blackening me,” she replied, 
” you will be able to introduce me as ‘ Arimintha John- 
son, of Africa.’ ” 

Agnes, who had just arrived on the veranda in time 
to hear her sister’s remarks, broke into the conversa- 
tion, saying, ” A great many people tell her she is Gay 
by name and gay by nature ; but I don’t think any one 
would tell her to-night that she is Crystal by name and 
crystal in complexion.” 

‘‘ Oh, don’t make puns !” Gabrielle exclaimed as the 
young men laughed. 

Mrs. Crystal, attracted by the voices of her daughters, 
came out of the house, and Gabrielle appealed to her. 


92 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ Mamma, do I look like a Spanish girl ?” 

“ No, dear,” answered her mother tenderly, as a little 
smile began to form about her mouth; ” with that flam- 
ing red dress and black face, you look as if you came 
from Fifth Avenue — South.” 

There was a general laugh at Gabrielle's expense. 

” Come, let us go,” she said, jumping up from her 
chair. ” I don’t object to reminding people of pic- 
tures they have seen on boxes of raisins, but to have 
one’s mother tell one that she looks as if she had a 
touch of the tar-brush, that is really more than I can 
bear. ” 

They rose at Gabrielle’s invitation and made their 
way down the road. The young men walked in front, 
directing the girls where to look out for broken boards 
in the walk. There were no lights along the road, and 
the moon had not yet risen. The lower half of the vil- 
lage could not come to any agreement with the upper 
half in regard to lighting their one street, and con- 
sequently, unless there was an accommodating moon in 
the heavens, the street was wrapped in darkness. By 
great care the young people managed to arrive at their 
journey’s end without loss of life or limb. The dining- 
room of the hotel had been cleared, and with its walls 
festooned with flags made a presentable ball-room. 

The wide porch was so crowded with visitors who 
came to look at the dancers, that it was only with great 
difficulty that Horace Bryce could get seats for Agnes 
Crystal and John Fulton, who preferred to watch the 
dance rather than take part in it. 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


93 


“ I understand now,” said a young married woman, 
a cousin of Horace Bryce’s, as she took his hand in a 
waltz quadrille, ” why you remain away so much from 
the hotel.” 

He made no answer. The next time they met in the 
dance she added, with a twinkle in her eye, ” I like 
your taste. Gypsy, is she ? Can she tell fortunes ? 

What about Miss , you know, the tall blonde ? She 

will be awfully cut up if she sees you devoting too much 
of your time and attention to that little symphony in 
red.” 

” I don’t understand you,” he said, as she danced 
away from him. 

” You don’t understand me ?” she queried when they 
met again. ” Well, pretend for a moment that you are 
deeply in conversation with your partner, and then sud- 
denly cast your beaux yeaux on the third set straight 
down the room.” 

Horace Bryce at the first opportunity did as he had 
been advised, and instantly saw the meaning of his 
cousin’s words. The tall young lady with the blonde 
hair evidently considered Gabrielle Crystal an intruder, 
and was looking at her with jealous eyes. 

When Horace encountered his cousin again he smiled 
and said, ” I understand now— green-eyed monster. I 
never suspected anything of the kind.” 

” She is not the only one either, there are several 
others,” his cousin remarked ; ” but don’t let that 

affect you. This is a bad season for young men in these 
parts, and in a country where all the men are blind — 


94 


PASSING SIIADOIVS. 


you know the rest and having delivered her thrust 
she danced away. 

The time passed pleasantly for Horace Bryce. He 
noticed that Gabrielle Crystal attracted not a little 
attention, and that fact flattered him. Before the end 
of the evening they became still better friends. Ga- 
brielle had been a trifle nervous in the beginning, as all 
in the room were strangers to her and somewhat above 
the set of people with whom she was accustomed to 
come in contact. This nervousness made her throw 
herself more on the protection of the young man in 
whose company she was. It drew them closer together. 
He looked so big and manly that she felt a pride in 
him. 

While resting between the dances Horace Bryce in- 
troduced his cousin to Gabrielle. 

“ From the amount of time which Horace spends 
upon the hill,” his cousin remarked with a smile, ” I 
think he must be in love with” — she paused as a 
startled look came into Gabrielle’s eyes ; then she con- 
tinued — ” with farm life.” 

Gabrielle drew a breath of relief, and replied rather 
innocently, ” Yes, he told me that he enjo)^ed coming 
up to our farm-house very much.” 

” Perhaps you don’t know that quite a number of 
the young ladies here have become jealous. They think 
he is altogether too fond of cows and chickens, and not 
fond enough of them. However, I have a theory that 
cows and chickens could never satisfy the heart of Mr. 
Bryce. What do you think. Miss Crystal ?” she asked, 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


95 


rather deliberately, at the same time looking Gabrielle 
full in the eyes. 

“Why,” answered Gabrielle, her manner showing 
some confusion, “ I think that the reason Mr. Bryce 
comes up to see us so often is because of a friend of his 
by the name of Mr. Fulton, who came with us to the 
mountains.” The next moment she realized that most 
of the time Horace Bryce spent at the farm-house was 
in her company, and the blood showed in her cheeks 
under the tan. 

“ Exactly ; that’s just what I thought,” Horace 
Bryce’s cousin answered, looking at Gabrielle in a way 
which seemed to belie her words. 

“ Pshaw !” Gabrielle exclaimed, letting the cat out 
of the bag, “ I hope you don’t think that Mr. Bryce 
comes up our way so often just to see me.” 

“ Not at all,” replied the older woman, trying in vain 
to suppress a smile. 

“ Oh, now you are making fun of me !” Gabrielle 
answered, with a toss of her head that set the red rose 
on her hat bobbing. Just then Horace Bryce came to 
claim her for a dance. 

“ How do you two get along ?” he asked, looking 
from one to the other. 

“ Splendidly,” his cousin answered. “ We are both 
talking of how passionately fond you are of horses, 
cows, chickens, and other /iving creatures that are to be 
found up at the farm-house on the hill.” 

Horace Bryce saw the point immediately, and glanced 
at Gabrielle. Each of her cheeks looked as if little 


96 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


pieces of her dress had jumped into them. The first 
notes of a waltz struck the air. “ You must not mind 
my cousin, Miss Crystal. She is six months older than 
I am, and for that reason she has always felt that it was 
her privilege to treat me maternally.” 

They danced away together, Horace Bryce secretly 
thanking his cousin for the blushes she had brought to 
Gabrielle’s cheeks. Growing tired of dancing, they 
strolled out on the porch in search of Agnes and John 
Fulton, and found them after a little search. When 
John Fulton looked at his watch, the lateness of the 
hour gave the young girls a little shock, as they knew 
their mother would not go to bed until they came home. 
Horace Bryce held Gabrielle’s wrap for her. ” You 
must not be offended at my cousin’s remarks this even- 
ing, Miss Crystal,” he said apologetically. 

She noticed his tone, and hastened to assure him that 
she was not displeased in the least. ” I feel highly 
honored,” she continued, with some warmth of manner, 
as she fastened her wrap at her throat, ” that you find 
our little farm-house interesting enough to attract you.” 

He would have liked to say more, but he thought it 
better to refrain. They walked home briskly to avoid 
the cold mountain wind chilling them. The Northern 
Lights swept through the heavens in constantly chang- 
ing coruscations, filling the girls with a sort of dread, 
as they had never seen them before on so grand a scale. 
When they arrived home they found all the household 
on the porch viewing the wonderful effects of the aurora 
borealis. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


97 


The Crystals and John Fulton remained only another 
half-week in the mountains, during which time Horace 
Bryce was a constant visitor at their cottage. 

“ We have decided to go down to New York to-mor- 
row,” Gabrielle announced to him one morning as he 
took a seat on the porch. ‘‘Jack’s vacation and my 
own will be at an end in a few days, and we concluded 
that it would be a good plan to have a little rest in the 
city before returning to work, or as we say in New 
York, ‘ to business.’ ” 

He paused for a moment, and then said, ‘‘ I did not 
intend to remain much longer myself in the mountains, 
and as things are growing duller at the hotel; if you 
don’t mind I will make one of your party.” 

‘‘ Oh, that would be delightful !” she exclaimed, 
striking the arms of the chair with her hands ; ‘‘ only 
it would be too great a sacrifice for you to make. You 
had better enjoy the mountain air as long as you can, 
it will do you so much good.” 

‘‘ No,” he replied, as he began to realize how he 
would miss seeing her every day, and how monotonous 
the time would be without her ; ‘‘ I am thoroughly 
rested now, and perhaps if I remain longer without 
being able to enjoy a daily visit here, I might get the 
blues and begin to lose flesh.” 

Gabrielle blushed a little, and taking a rose from her 
corsage bouquet, she handed it to him, remarking at the 
same time, ‘ ‘ You are more than kind to say such a thing. 

So it was settled that Horace Bryce would return 
with them to New York on the morrow. 


98 


PASSING SNA no IV S. 


The next afternoon found them all sitting in a rail- 
road-car which looked as if it had been originally intended 
for cattle. The cool breezes that rushed up the narrow 
pass through which the train sped made up, however, in 
a great measure for the discomforts of the car in which 
they were travelling. After an hour’s ride they left the 
mountains and the cattle-car behind them, and got on 
board of a more comfortable train on the main road. 

The sun went down by the time they were half way 
on their journey, and night had fallen over the city 
long before their train rolled into the Grand Central 
Station. 

Horace Bryce parted company with the Crystals at 
the Elevated Railroad, he going to the north and they 
to the south. 

“ Be sure and keep your promise to call on us as soon 
as you are able,” Gabrielle said, as he took her hand. 
” I already feel a little lonesome at the idea of not see- 
ing you as often as I did in the mountains.” 

He bowed to her in acknowledgment of the compli- 
ment, and shaking her hand warmly, answered, ” So 
do I.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


99 


CHAPTER X. 


“ Doo^ here, upon this picture, and on this.'’ 

S a rule, no matter how long the average New 



^ Yorker may be away from the metropolis, he 
need be in it again but for the space of half an hour, 
breathe a few whiffs of its air, a little oppressive on the 
lungs after a stay in the purer atmosphere of the moun- 
tains, hear the shouts of the cabmen, the tinkle of street- 
car bells, the cry of newsboys, the rattle of heavy trucks, 
and the rush of the elevated cars overhead, and he for- 
gets almost immediately that he has been away at all 
from the city. He takes up his life again as easily and 
quickly as if he had been absent only for a few hours. 
To this rule, as to all rules, there are exceptions, how- 
ever, exceptions which Horace Bryce exemplifies. 

He was back in New York, it is true, sitting in the 
front car of an elevated train, rattling by long lines 
of tenements, with the smoke and the heavy odor of oil 
coming in through the windows, but his mind was far 
away. Instead of experiencing any discomfort from 
the smoke and oil, he was enjoying the aroma of sum- 
mer grass and the delicate perfume of a girl’s dress. 
The electric-lighted avenue that he could see below him 
was a long country road flooded with moonlight. The 
red bull’s-eye lanterns of the engines were bunches of 


lOO 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


red poppies. The roofs of the high tenements, with 
their brick, chimneys and glass skylights, were moun- 
tains covered with spruce and maple trees. 

When the conductor, leaning within the doorway, re- 
lieved himself of a jargon of words with the consonants 
unpronounced, which meant Sixty-seventh Street, his 
message gave Horace Bryce a start. 

The young man caught his valise as he recollected 
himself, and hurried to the door. The conductor grum- 
bled something about people delaying the train, but 
Horace Bryce heeded him not. He was angry that the 
station had been reached so quickly and his reverie so 
ruthlessly broken. A walk of a few blocks brought 
him to his home, a modest, three-story, brown-stone 
house, the upper part of which was wrapped in dark- 
ness. Seeing a light in the basement, he rang the bell. 

An old housekeeper appeared and welcomed him. 
His father and mother, she said, had gone down to the 
seashore for a few days, but would be back probably 
the next day. 

The housekeeper wanted to prepare something for 
him to eat, but he told her not to mind, as he could 
get it himself. He went to the ice-box, picked up some 
cold meat and some pickles, found a head of lettuce, for 
which he mixed a dressing, made a cup of chocolate on 
the gas-stove, and sitting down enjoyed himself. After 
he had finished his meal he carried his valise up to his 
room. Then he took from his bag the plate-holders 
which held the plates he had used the day of the excur- 
sion to the falls. Just off his sleeping apartment there 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


lOI 


was an empty room, which he used as a dark room in 
which to develop plates. Taking the holders with him, 
he went in there and closed the door. He lit his ruby 
lamp, prepared a developing solution, and began de- 
veloping. He watched the plate nervously as he tilted 
the tray from side to side to cover the plate completely 
with the developer. Little by little the smoke began 
to clear away from its sides. The rocks first showed 
dimly, then the hanging lace of a girl’s sleeve, and then 
the folds of her dress and the texture began to be visi- 
ble. The white mist hung for a longer time over the 
middle of the plate, making the amateur photographer 
a bit anxious. But finally it cleared away, and Ga- 
brielle Crystal, holding in her hand the wild flowers 
which he had gathered for her, stood against the rocks, 
with the spray from the falls making a halo about her. 

The plate promised a beautiful picture. 

Photography was surely made for lovers ! The 
Romeos and Juliets of olden times missed a great deal 
in being born before the days of the Kodak and the 
Hawkeye. What a happiness it would have been to 
the heir of the proud house of Montague, could he have 
climbed the wall enclosing the garden of the Capulets, 
and in the twinkling of an eye photographed his Juliet 
as she stood among the tall roses, or sat dreaming of 
him on her balcony ! Or yet to have dared more, to 
have taken her by flash light when they were in Juliet’s 
room, trying to decide whether it was the nightingale 
or lark that sang “ in yon pomegranate-tree.” He 
then would have possessed a solace sweet in Mantua. 


102 


PASSING SNADOJVS. 


Despite the disadvantages of not having had a per- 
fect light the day he had taken the pictures, Horace 
Bryce had succeeded in getting two excellent photo- 
graphs of Gabrielle. The group pictures of John Ful- 
ton, Gabrielle, and Agnes, though not perfect, were 
what photographers would pronounce successful. 

Well satisfied with himself, he put away his photo- 
graphic kit and retired to his room to rest, a very happy 
young man. 

The following Monday morning Horace Bryce, who 
held a position as clerk in the post-office to which John 
Fulton was attached as a letter-carrier, met the latter 
as he returned from his first delivery, with an empty 
mail-bag hanging over his shoulder. They greeted 
each other very cordially. Horace Bryce felt thankful 
to John Fulton, because it was through him that he had 
become acquainted with Gabrielle Crystal. 

“ I saw Gay last night,” the letter-carrier said, as he 
relieved himself of his bag, ” and she asked me to re- 
member her to you when I met you in the morning. 
She is anxious to see how you have succeeded with the 
pictures.” 

Horace Bryce intended going down to Eldridge 
Street on the following Thursday evening. Gabrielle’s 
anxiety made him anxious, too, and so he replied, ‘‘ I 
wish you would tell Miss Crystal that I have sent the 
plates to a photographer to have them printed and the 
pictures mounted, and as they will be ready to-morrow, 
I can bring them down to her to-morrow evening.” 

John Fulton delivered the message that night and 


PASSING SHADOIVS. 


103 


brought back Gabrielle’s answer in the morning. She 
was on the tiptoe of expectancy, most anxious to see 
him and the photographs. 

The same evening about eight o’clock Horace Bryce 
rang the second little silver bell on the door of the 
house in which the Crystals lived. 

The house was an old-fashioned one without a patent 
door opener, which made it necessary every time the 
bell rang for some one of the family to come down and 
open the door. Horace Bryce did not have long to 
wait. He heard the patter of feet on the stairs, and 
then the door swung open and revealed Gabrielle. Her 
smiling eyes showed how glad she was to see him ; his 
told to hers the same story. 

“ It’s awfully good of you to come,” she said, as she 
reached out her hand to him ; ” I was afraid that per- 
haps your promise would be like most of those which 
are made in the country in the summer time.” 

” How is that ?” he asked, as he released her hand. 

” Oh, don’t you know that promises made at sum- 
mer resorts are made to be broken ?” 

” Surely you don’t believe that I would make you a 
promise” — he pressed ever so little on the ” you” — 
” and then break it, do you ?” The slightest touch of 
pink came into her cheeks. 

‘‘ Well, no ; I don’t believe you would,” she an- 
swered, with a good deal of feeling ; then to relieve her 
embarrassment she continued, ” I was awfully anxious 
to see how the photographs had come out.” 

‘‘ The one of the group is quite good, but the one of 


104 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


you alone is exquisite. Even though I say it myself, 
I don’t think I ever succeeded so well with a picture. 
That is one of the strange things about photography. 
When you are very careful and everything favors you, 
your attempt will often prove a failure ; and, again, 
when you work under difficulties you sometimes 
achieve the greatest success. The light at the time 1 
took the picture was not what I would have wished, and 
yet it is wonderfully good.” 

They went upstairs, and he produced the pictures. 
Mrs. Crystal and Agnes were there. He explained how 
well the details had come out in Gabrielle’s picture — 
the pattern of the lace on her dress and the fine spray 
from the water tumbling down the rocks. 

” I think the reason I was so successful was because 
I had such an excellent subject,” he said, addressing 
himself to Agnes. 

Gabrielle made a funny little courtesy. 

” Precisely,” Agnes replied ; ” Gay takes a splendid 
picture. You see, she has had considerable practice in 
front of a camera. The first twenty-five cents she was 
ever given to spend she invested in four tin-types of 
herself.” 

Gabrielle joined in the general laugh. 

” You did not have any difficulty finding your way 
here, I hope ?” Agnes asked. 

” No ; it was all plain sailing,” he answered. 

” Well, what do you think of the great East Side, 
Mr. Bryce ? Do you believe we are all Indians down 
here ?” said Gabrielle. 


PASSING SHAD OPTS. 


105 

He leaned back a little in his chair and replied, “ Per- 
haps you won't believe me when I say it, but, neverthe- 
less, though I have been born and brought up in the 
city, this is the first time that 1 have ever been in this 
neighborhood. Whatever knowledge I have of it is 
from newspapers and magazine articles.” 

” You must have been a little afraid of us, then,” said 
Agnes, ” when we told you in the mountains where we 
lived ?” 

No ; I immediately changed my opinion of the East 
Side.” , 

” Oh, how kind of you to say so !” Gabrielle ex- 
claimed. ” We were unconscious missionaries, then, 
and converted you.” 

” Completely,” he answered. 

“Ah me,” sighed Gabrielle, “the poor East Side ! 
It is really very bad, but still there is here and there an 
oasis of ‘ culture,’ Mr. Bryce, as you must have noticed 
as soon as you fell in with us.” She continued, “It’s our 
own fault if we residents of the East Side do not improve. 
I’m sure everything that is necessary to make people 
cultured is done for us. There are free libraries, free 
picture galleries, and free potted plants. Culture is in the 
air, and it’s only by being obstinate that we escape it.” 

“ You’re like Wordsworth’s man, perhaps,” he said. 

“ Who is he, pray ?” 

“ He is the gentleman of whom it was said that 

“ ‘ A primrose by a river’s brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, 

And it was nothing more.’ ” 


io6 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ That’s our case exactly,” Gabrielle assented. ” Oh, 
I shiver and shudder when I think of what an account 
we shall have to render for not striving to be more cul- 
tured ! Agnes, I am determined to become cultured. 
The first opportunity offers itself I am going to go to 
one of those places where potted plants are presented 
and ask for a yellow primrose.” 

” But you are the personification of culture,” he 
hastened to answer her. 

” Oh,” she exclaimed, as if he frightened her, ” how 
can you say such a thing, Mr. Biyce ?” 

” Because culture is ‘ Sweetness and Light.’ Now 
the first vision I had of both of you in the mountain, 
the day we first met, made me exclaim to myself un- 
consciously, ‘ Sweetness and Light.’ ” 

” You did not think I was too light, did you ?” Agnes 
asked. 

” Nor that I was too sweet to be wholesome?” Ga- 
brielle added. 

” Oh, how difficult it is to say nice things to you 
young ladies !” he said, with a sigh. ‘‘.You forever 
discourage them.” 

‘‘ That’s my sister’s fault,” Gabi'ielle declared. 
‘‘ She is always trying to steer clear of anything that 
might be to her an occasion of pride and vanity. And 
she’s got me almost as bad as herself. Say, Agnes” — 
turning to her sister — ‘‘ how old were you when you 
began to avoid the seven deadly sins ?” 

” One day old.” 

Horace Bryce laughed* 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


107 


Mrs. Crystal came into the room with a tray filled 
with refreshments. Gabrielle jumped up to assist her. 

“ We always treat everybody that comes to our house 
the same way. We give them ice-cream, lemonade, 
and cake. Sometimes we vary the cake, but that’s the 
baker’s fault. After that I generally play the piano 
and sing for them.” 

‘‘ She won’t sing for you to-night, Mr. Bryce ; we 
won’t let her,” Agnes assured him. 

” Can I speak a piece ? 

“ ‘ The boy stood on the burning deck, 

On Linden, when the sun was low. 

There was a sound of revelry by night. 

In Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine ! ’ ” 

‘‘ Now, you’ve done it with your gestures !” ex- 
claimed Agnes, ” spilling lemonade on your mother’s 
new carpet.” 

” Have some Eldridge Street ice-cream, Mr. Bryce,” 
said Gabrielle, handing him a plate of vanilla and choco- 
late mixed. ‘‘ Darkness and Light,” she explained. 

‘‘ But I want the sweetness,” he said emphatically. 

Agnes noticed with a little surprise that he spoke 
rather earnestly. 

‘‘You get the sweetness,” Gabrielle answered, ‘‘by 
a combination of the mixtupe.” 

He sat back in his chair and ate the ice-cream and 
smilingly watched Gabrielle. 

They rehearsed the things which they had done in 
the mountains. Later the bell rang and John Fulton 


came in. 


io8 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


“ Do you know, Jack, that this is the first time I have 
ever been in this neighborhood ?” Horace Bryce re- 
marked as John Fulton took a seat. 

“ Is that a fact ? How did you ever live so long in 
New York without wandering down this way ?” 

“ I’m blessed if I know. I suppose because I was 
born in the city. If I had lived in a town along the 
Hudson River, probably I would have seen more of 
New York than I have.” 

They passed the time pleasantly chatting until it was 
late. The gas in the hallway was out when Horace 
Bryce started to go. Gabrielle brought a lamp to light 
him down the stairs. He turned to say good night 
once more as he reached the bottom step. Gabrielle’s 
dark eyes, sparkling in the light of the lamp which she 
held above her head, gave her a bewitching look. 

” I don’t know whether you remind me most of Juliet 
on her balcony or Miss Liberty enlightening the world,” 
he said, looking up at her. 

” I’m in a quandary, too,” she replied over the ban- 
ister. ” I cannot decide whether you are more like 
Romeo in the garden, or” — she quickly turned the light 
low — ” Moses when the light went out.” 

They parted in merry humor. 

John Fulton accompanied Horace Bryce, and instead 
of going direct to the nearest station of the Elevated 
Road, they made a detour to the south. The night was 
very warm, and the whole population, which was mainly 
Jewish, was out on the streets. 

The stores, basements, fire-escapes, sidewalks, and 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


109 

even the middle of the streets were alive with babies in 
arms, toddlers, young boys and girls, and men and 
women. They wandered in and out and around each 
other like ants. There was as much business done on 
the sidewalk as in the stores and basements. Peddlers 
hawked about suspenders, cheap jewelry, letter paper 
and envelopes, handkerchiefs, and all kinds of fruit. 

At every corner there were several soda-water foun- 
tains. Printed signs told that the soda-water was a 
penny and two cents a glass, Swedish champagne, the 
latest summer beverage, cost three cents. The glasses 
were large and thick, probably to prevent their being 
broken if dropped on the pavement by the children. 
The men with watermelons, one cent a slice, could 
hardly supply the mob about their carts quickly enough. 

With great difficulty the young men made their way 
through the dense crowds, hearing as they went by, the 
expression, often repeated, “ There goes two Christs,” 
pronounced like the first syllable in the word Christian. 
When they reached Grand Street the wide sidewalks 
made walking moie easy, and they soon arrived at the 
station of the Elevated Road. 

An advancing train hastened Horace Bryce’s depart- 
ure, and he hurried up the stairs and into the car, to 
sit and think — not of the sights he had seen on his first 
visit to the East Side, but only of Gabrielle. 


no 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ Fare thee well ' and if forever ^ 

Still forever fare thee well." 

H orace BRYCE came regularly to visit the Crys- 
tals, and saw a great deal of Gabrielle. His 
love for her grew stronger every day. For her part, 
she was glad to see him, enjoyed his company, and 
made him welcome every time he came. There was no 
doubt but that she liked him very well. 

It happened that on several occasions when he was 
visiting the Crystals a young woman, an intimate friend 
of Gabrielle’ s, chanced to drop in to see her, Stella 
Conway was the senior of Gabrielle Crystal by a few 
months, and was remarkable for many things, especially 
her weight. Whenever she stood on a weighing 
machine, the register indicated at least one hundred 
and eighty pounds, which is considerable for one so 
young. She was tall, however — a fact which saved her. 
There could be no fear that she would later in life de- 
velop into a pudgy woman, a fate which threatens most 
young girls who run to flesh and do not add to their 
stature. She was clever enough, though she never won 
a prize in the college from which she was graduated. 
She was not the kind of a girl who, if awakened sud- 
denly in the night, could tell whether there was a 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


Ill 


comma or semicolon at the end of the last line on the 
fiftieth page of one of her text-books. She knew the 
matter, but it was never photographed on her mind. 
Among her friends Stella Conway passed as the “ Au- 
thoress,” and ” thereby hangs a tale.” 

On a certain day several public-school teachers were 
taking dinner in one of the class-rooms. The talk 
turned on novel-reading, and one of the group, who 
had picked up that morning in the hallway of her house 
a sample copy of The Weekly Companion^ a famous story- 
paper, began to praise one of the stories which she had 
read on her way to school. Stella Conway poohpoohed 
it, saying that it was not even original. 

The teacher who had praised it was somewhat pro- 
voked, and told Stella that she could not do as well herself, 
and therefore she ought not to be so ready to criticise. 

Instead of becoming angry, Stella became comical. 

‘‘ Why, this is all you have to do to write a story like 
the one you describe,” she said, leaving her dinner and 
going over to the blackboard. ” First you draw a 
young man” — she suited the action to the word, draw- 
ing a ludicrous outline of a man with the chalk — ” you 
make him fair or dark, just as you please. In this case 
I will give him fair hair and eyebrows, as I have only 
white chalk. He should have teeth, of course.” She 
drew a mouth in the centre of the round head, making 
little perpendicular strokes to indicate teeth. ” It 
would be better not to say too much about his teeth. 
You can leave your fine description of ‘ pearls in the 
mouth ’ for the young ladies who are to figure in the 


1 12 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


Story. Now, if you make this young man the son of a 
millionaire, send him to a university, where he blossoms 
out as the captain of the foot-ball eleven, that will help 
the story considerably. Next it is necessary to have 
two young women. One should be like unto this,” 
continued the artist, drawing a ridiculously tall outline 
of a female. ” You had better give this tall one dark, 
cruel eyes, lips that have no difficulty in curling up in- 
dignantly when anger sweeps the face, and she must 
have a very haughty bearing. She is a Vere de Vere, 
with diamonds for ornaments. In the story she must 
be in love with the young man. Besides the cruel 
father and the members of the foot-ball eleven, only one 
more character is necessary to complete the story. 
This one, who is also a young lady, must be rather 
small.” Miss Conway drew a squat-looking figure with 
the chalk. ” She must have blond tresses like fine, 
spun gold, melting eyes full of love, and a modest de- 
meanor, the more humble and retiring, the better. She 
earns her living by working for the millionaire father 
of the young man. 

” The plot of the story is quite simple. Miss Vere 
de Vere falls in love with the gilded youth. He rather 
favors the young girl in his father’s employ. The 
green-eyed monster must be brought on the stage, and 
the poor girl injured in some way — loss of her position 
will do. Jealousy must eat at the heart of Miss Vere de 
Vere, as the fox ate at the breast of the Spartan lad. 
About the middle of the story a complication should 
arise. The young gjrj who has lost her position must 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


113 

refuse the hero’s hand, giving as a reason that she is a 
poor girl and far beneath him ; but adding naively 
that she loves him, and though she cannot become his 
wife, still she will never love another as long as her life 
drags its weary length along. This declaration, of 
course, only increases his love. A few more chapters 
may be added, in which the agony is piled on, until the 
young man overcomes her scruples, and she consents to 
marry him, much to the discomfort of the tall brunette. 
The father can be made to forgive his son, or he can be 
killed before he has a chance to change his will, and 
thus the son would inherit all, his father being a wid- 
ower.” 

The little group of school-teachers, with the excep- 
tion of her opponent, greatly enjoyed Stella Conway’s 
fooling. 

” It’s all very easy to do with chalk,” she replied ; 
” but I am sure if you sent your story to one of the 
weekly papers, it would be returned with ‘ thanks.’ ” 

Miss Conway recklessly wagered a box of candy that 
it would not. Her opponent accepted the offer, and the 
consequence was that Miss Conway wrote the story, 
and received a check for twenty dollars from the pub- 
lishers of T/ie Weekly Companion^ with a request for more 
contributions. From that time on she was known as 
the ” Authoress” among her friends. 

When Stella Conway, who knew that Gabrielle Crys- 
tal had always thought a great deal of John Fulton, 
noticed that Horace Bryce was such a frequent visitor 
at her friend’s house, her curiosity became aroused. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


114 

One evening in the latter part of October she chanced 
to drop in at the Crystals, and found Agnes sitting 
alone, sewing. 

“ Working for the poor as usual, I suppose, Agnes ?’* 
she exclaimed. “ Give it up for a few moments and 
talk to me. The poor you have always with you, but 
I am only going to remain five minutes.” 

Agnes stuck her needle in her work and laid it aside. 

“Are you alone?” Stella Conway asked, peering 
about the room. 

“ It looks like it,” Agnes replied. 

” Where’s your pa and ma and Gay ?” 

“ They have gone to see Jack Fulton’s mother ; she 
has been quite ill lately.” 

“ Well, as long as I have been lucky enough to find 
you alone,” Stella said, seating herself, “ I want to ask 
you a question about something which has given me a 
great deal of worry for the last month. What I should 
like to know is the real state of Gay’s heart. Is she 
still fond of Jack Fulton, or has she fallen in love with 
that young man whose name rhymes with rice ?” 

Agnes Crystal had often of late put the same ques- 
tion to herself, but she did not expect to hear it pro- 
pounded so abruptly by another. She blushed and 
showed such confusion that Stella Conway for a 
moment did not feel like pursuing the matter any 
further. 

“ I did not mean to be inquisitive, Agnes, and I am 
sorry if I have been impertinent.” 

Agnes rallied from her confusion and answered, ” To 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


be candid with you, Stella, I am in as much of a quan- 
dary as you yourself. A few months ago I would have 
said that Gay was in love with Jack. I still think she 
loves him, and that this interest in Mr. Bryce is only a 
passing one. However, I must admit that at present I 
myself am somewhat puzzled.” 

” If you could throw a little light on the subject, I 
might be able to give Gay a few words of advice. 
Coming from me, they would have a great deal of 
weight — a hundred and eighty pounds, you know.” 

Agnes smiled, but made no answer. 

” Suppose I constitute myself an investigating 
committee to find out the true state of that child’s 
heart ? She is really too young to know her own 
mind.” 

” You* may do so if you like. I will be neutral in the 
matter.” 

” I would rather that you would enter into my 
scheme,” Stella Conway proposed, “as you can give 
me much help. I am a little anxious to get some 
definite knowledge, on account of a remark which I 
heard to-day.” 

” What was that ?” Agnes asked. 

” Some one said that Gay is using her Catskill Moun- 
tain acquaintance to make John Fulton jealous ; that 
she hopes to be able to strike the jealous chord in 
his heart, and by this means to awaken him from his 
lethargy.” 

Such a thought had never entered Agnes Crystal’s 
mind. Even if it had occurred to her, she would have 


ii6 


PASSING SHADOWS. . 


put it away immediately as a disloyalty to her sister. 
Her face grew more serious as she replied : 

“ I think that is uncharitable. I cannot believe that 
Gay would stoop to do such a mean thing.” 

” I did not believe it either when I heard the remark, 
and 1 told the young lady so who made it. But I no- 
ticed at the same time that she was reading one of 
Henry James’s stories, and then I partly understood 
the reason for her remark. Whenever you read one of 
those analytic novels you get to thinking that you know 
it all, and at every opportunity you make a study of 
human nature, and end by attributing all sorts of mean 
motives to people.” 

Agnes, at first somewhat reticent, grew a little more 
confiding, and said, ” I frankly admit, Stella, that Gay 
is an enigma to me, and I am glad of this chanCe to talk 
over the matter with you and hear your opinions.” 

” Well, then, if you are willing to leave it to me,” 
said the Authoress, rising, “I’ll settle all doubts. I 
must hurry home now, as those dreadful examiners are 
coming to school to-morrow to examine the children, 
and I have some school-work to get ready. But before 
I go,” she added, as she laid her hand on the knob of 
the door, ” I don’t mind telling you my plan for finding 
out the true state of Gay’s heart. It is a very simple 
one. I intend to make love to Jack Fulton.” 

Before Agnes Crystal could recover from her surprise 
the Authoress swept out of the room. She came back 
again for a moment and said : 

” Remember to say a prayer for me to-night that the 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


I17 

children will do well. I hate to be made a fool of be- 
fore those examiners.” Then she was gone. 

Agnes remained sitting where she was for a long time 
after her friend had departed, meditating on Gabrielle. 
Much as she endeavored to drive out of her head the 
idea of Gabrielle using Horace Bryce as a tool to make 
Jack Fulton jealous, and thus stir up any latent love 
that might be hid away in his breast, it came back ever 
and anon, and worried and saddened her. Thus, as 
the poet says, doth suspicion ” work like madness in 
the brain.” Much as we may wish to believe only good 
of those we know, it is a comparatively easy thing to 
make even the most loyal friends suspicious of one an- 
other. The little rift within the lute widens very 
quickly. 

The next evening the Authoress came in to see the 
Crystals again, ostensibly to let Agnes know that the 
children had vanquished the examiners, but really to 
question Gabrielle. In the flow of talk Stella made the 
interesting discovery that Horace Bryce was to call the 
following evening to take Gabrieile to the theatre. In 
an instant the Authoress had made up her mind to act. 

” You might stay a half-hour, Stella,” pleaded Ga- 
brielle, going over to a small table near the piano and 
picking up several pieces of music. ” I have copies of 
three songs which are sung in the play we are going to 
see, and I would like you to run over them a few times ; 
you play so much better than I do.” 

The Authoress sighed profoundly. ” Sorry, Gay, I 
cannot accommodate you after your being so confec- 


1 1 8 PA SSING SHADO WS. 

tionery, but really I must go. Auf Wiedersehn, as they 
say in Ireland.” 

The Authoress tripped down the stairs in great glee, 
and the next moment was ringing John Fulton s bell. 
He came to the door himself. She inquired concerning 
his mother’s health, and he made answer that the best 
way for her to find out how his mother was feeling 
was to come upstairs and see for herself. The Author- 
ess did not hesitate to accept the invitation. She found 
John Fulton’s mother improved, and he noticed with 
pleasure how much brighter his mother became as she 
listened to the running fire of jokes and stories, of 
which the Authoress had an abundance. 

” I believe you are the happiest girl in New 
York,” Mrs. Fulton remarked as the Authoress rose 
to go. 

Stella Conway sighed a deep sigh, which long prac- 
tice and much flesh had made peculiar to herself. 

” So everybody tells me. I suppose it s because Fm 
stout. Stout people are always happy, and thin people 
are always pious, at least that’s what a great many 
think. But the cap doesn’t fit me.’ She flicked the 
skirt of her dress in an apparently impatient manner 
and dropped her eyes to the floor. 

John Fulton and his mother noted in surprise the 
look of sadness that came into her face. 

” What’s the trouble ?” Mrs. Fulton asked sympa- 
thetically ; ” anything wrong with the folks ?” 

” No ; it’s only a little thing — it’s the blues, I guess. 
I grow so weary of being eternally stuck at home and 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


19 


not getting any of the little pleasures which fall to the 
lot of other girls.” 

John Fulton wondered at her words, having always 
believed that she had about as much enjoyment as most 
of the girls he knew ; but when she made the remark 
he became convinced that he had been mistaken. 

” It’s a kind of uneven world,” the Authoress con- 
tinued, as Mrs. Fulton made no reply to her last words. 
‘‘ There is Gay Crystal going to the theatre to-morrow 
evening for the second time this month with that young 
man she met in the Catskills. The next time I see her 
I will have the pleasure of listening to a description 
of the play.” Her voice grew harsh and sarcastic as 
she uttered the last sentence. She raised her eyes 
from the floor for an instant to see what effect her words 
might have had on John Fulton. She noticed immedi- 
ately that he had fallen into the trap. He was embar- 
rassed in his manner as he began speaking. 

“Talking about theatres, Stella,” he said, rather 
abashed, “ reminds me that there is a play on the boards 
at the Fifth Avenue which all the papers have been 
praising, and which I am most anxious to see. Suppose 
now that you and I go up there to-morrow evening ? Is 
it a bargain ?” 

“ Oh, no, thanks !” she exclaimed, shaking her head 
as if the acceptance of his proposal was altogether out 
of the question. “lam sorry I spoke as I did. I hope 
you don’t imagine that I go about advertising my want 
of happiness in order to get sympathy and favors from 
others.” 


120 


PA SSTNGy SIT A DO WS. 


He looked at her for a moment with a mild protest in 
his eyes, and then remarked slowly, “ What an un 
gracious thing for you to say !” 

She rubbed her hand across her eyes and was silent. 

“ He is so good, so sincere,” she thought ; “it seems 
a crime to be so hypocritical.” She knew how much 
of a gentleman he was, and what an easy thing it would 
be for any girl to impose on his generosity. Then she 
thought of his having to leave his mother if he took 
her to the theatre, and she repented of what she was 
doing. She raised her eyes to his for an instant, and 
said softly and sincerely, ” I did not mean to say such 
a brutal thing, but, really, I cannot go,” 

” Nonsense, child !” exclaimed Mrs. Fulton, from 
the rocking-chair in which she sat propped up with 
pillows. ” You must go with Jack, and then you can 
come around the next evening and tell me all about the 
play. I feel so much better since you have come in, 
that I believe another night of your company will cure 
me entirely.” 

The Authoress cast a grateful glance at her, but said 
nothing. ” It’s all for Gay’s sake,” she thought, ” and 
Jack Fulton was always glad to do any kindness to Gay 
Crystal.’ ’ 

The next night John Fulton and Stella Conway sat in 
the front row of the balcony of the Fifth Avenue The- 
atre and enjoyed the latest London success, ” In Silly 
Sooth.” 

” Guess what. Gay !” exclaimed Agnes Crystal, in- 
terrupting her sister, who was seated at the piano play * 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


I2I 


ing and humming the new songs which she had heard 
the night before ; “ Stella Conway dropped in this 
morning, just after you had gone to the office, and told 
me that Jack had taken her to see ‘ In Silly Sooth,’ at 
the Fifth Avenue Theatre, last evening.” 

The playing ceased immediately. 

” Jack took Stella Conway to the theatre !” Gabrielle 
exclaimed aloud. The words seemed to daze her, and 
she repeated them several times audibly, as if trying to 
understand their meaning. After the silence had lasted 
several moments Agnes continued : 

“ Yes, and she told me that Jack had promised to 
spend next Sunday evening at her house.” 

When Agnes had imparted this bit of news she stood 
up and began to wind the onyx clock that ornamented 
the centre of the mantel, at the same time watching 
the effect of her words upon her sister. 

Gabrielle still sat on the piano-stool, unconscious of 
her surroundings. She seemed to have forgotten her 
sister’s presence. After a long reverie her mind began 
to work again and ideas to shape themselves. She 
threw one arm on the piano and rested her head on her 
hand. Was, then. Jack Fulton slipping away from 
her ? she thought. Could it be possible that he was 
falling in love with Stella Conway ? She remembered 
with a shock of pain that she had heard him praise the 
Authoress several times. Her mind began to travel 
back slowly over the events of the last few months. It 
was now the beginning of November. In the latter 
part of July she had asked her sister to pray that John 


122 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Fulton would at least learn to look upon her as a young 
woman, and not as a child. Then had come the shock 
she had received in the mountains. She chanced upon 
Horace Bryce just at that time, and he brought with 
him the aroma of wild flowers, the recollection of bright 
ball-rooms, of books and theatres. He had not only 
delighted her, but treated her with a gallantry which 
John Fulton had never thought of showing to her. 
These recollections passed before her like a panorama. 
Then came the thought, suppose Jack Fulton should 
fall in love with some one else ? It gave her heart a 
wrench and robbed her cheeks of their color. She 
clutched at the piano-cover nervously with her hand. 
To lose Jack was to lose happiness forever. In an in- 
stant the idea of Horace Bryce palled upon her. 

Agnes, standing at the mantel, noticed the color fade 
from her sister’s cheeks, and dropped the metal clock- 
key, as if by accident, on the marble slab of the 
mantel. 

The sharp ring of the key startled Gabrielle and 
brought her back to her senses. She wheeled about on 
the stool and gave the piano a few nervous sweeps with 
her trembling fingers. The playing seemed to relieve 
and compose her. 

“ Do you believe, Agnes,” she asked, as she let her 
fingers run idly over the keys, ” that Jack thinks any- 
thing of Stella Conway ? I know,” she added hastily, 
” that he likes her, for I often heard him say so ; but 
do you think he has any great liking for her ?” 

” I don’t quite understand what you mean by ‘ a 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


123 


great liking.’ Do you mean to ask me whether I be- 
lieve he loves her ?” 

Gabrielle paused for a moment and ceased her play- 
ing. 

“ Yes, that is what I mean.” 

” Just at present,” Agnes answered, ” I do not think 
that Jack is in love with anybody except his mother. 
Of course, no one can tell what the future may de- 
velop.” 

Gabrielle rose from her chair and walked up and 
down the room once or twice, and finally paused and 
leaned on the piano. 

” Do you remember, Agnes, the first time I spoke to 
you seriously about being in love with Jack Fulton, 
and that I asked you to say a prayer for me ?” 

‘‘Yes; I remember the occasion very well,” Agnes 
replied. 

‘‘ I suppose you gave up that practice long ago ?” 

‘‘ Not at all ; you didn’t tell me to stop, so I kept on 
making a memento for you every day.” 

This little act of fidelity touched Gabrielle and gave 
her more courage. She sat on the piano-stool, and for 
the first time faced her sister. 

‘‘ Suppose, Agnes,” she began with a faint smile, 
‘‘ that I make you my father confessor, and tell you the 
state of my soul, or rather of my heart .?” 

‘‘ If it will relieve you any, Gay, I shall be only too 
glad to listen.” 

Gabrielle folded her hands in her lap. ‘‘ I will begin 
in the orthodox way,” she said. ‘‘It is about three 


124 


PASSING SI/ADOIVS. 


months since my. last confession — to you. At that time 
I told you very frankly how I felt toward Jack, and 
how little he suspected the state of my feelings. You 
encouraged me, and even promised to pray for me. 
That fact heartened me and made me happy. The day 
we started for the mountains I was in high hopes. I 
thought it likely that during our few weeks’ vacation 
there, a change might come over Jack. About the sec- 
ond or third day after our arrival I met with a cruel 
disappointment. I was sitting in the corner of the par- 
lor, late in the afternoon. Jack came along the porch 
and met Sadie Van Volkenburg, the old farmer’s niece. 
You were walking at the end of the lawn. The two of 
them stopped on the porch to chat, where I could hear 
them. Sadie Van Volkenburg brought the conversa- 
tion around to you, remarking that you were the kind 
of a girl that girls like. Then she rambled on until 
finally she began to speak of me. As soon as my name 
was mentioned I hastily gathered up my sewing and 
rose lo go, not wanting to be guilty of eavesdropping. 
My spool of thread slipped fiom my hand and rolled 
under the sofa. I stooped to find it, and just as I had 
done so I heard Miss Van Volkenburg say, ‘ I am sure 
of one thing, and that is that Gay will never enter a 
convent.’ The remark seemed such a funny one that I 
listened further. ‘ Oh, you can’t be sure,’ Jack replied ; 
‘ a few years may make a great change in a girl’s no- 
tions.’ ‘ But you would have something to say about 
that,’ she laughed. ‘How?’ asked Jack, noticing, as 
I did, some implication in her laugh. ‘ Oh,’ she ex- 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


125 


claimed, ‘ as if I didn’t notice that you two were in love 
with each other ! ’ Jack laughed at what he considered 
the absurdity of the idea. At the sound of his laughter 
all hope died within me. 

“ ‘ I am afraid, Miss Van Volkenburg,’ Jack an- 
swered, when he had ceased laughing, •* that you would 
make a poor fortune-teller. Gay and I have been old 
friends since she was a little girl at school, so, naturally, 
we think a great deal of each other.’ ‘ Perhaps the 
long friendship may have ripened into love,’ Miss Van 
Volkenburg persisted. ‘ Why, it has ripened into that 
long ago,’ he answered. ‘ When Gay was only ten 
years of age I told her that she was the best girl in New 
York, and she whispered in my ear that she liked me 
better than anybody else in the world, except her mam- 
ma and papa and her sister Agnes. So, you see, it’s an 
affair of the heart of long standing between Gay and 
me.’ ‘ But I mean,’ persisted Miss Van Volkenburg, 
in her high voice, ‘ that that early child-love has blos- 
somed into the real thing.’ Jack, noticing her persis- 
tency, asked, ‘ Do you mean that we are really in love 
with each other ? ’ ‘Of course I do,’ she replied, ‘ and 
you’ll be married before next summer.’ ‘ Oh, dear ! ’ 
Jack sighed, ‘ you are a wonderful romancer. Miss Van 
Volkenburg ; but you had better take my word for it, 
that Gay and I are not in love, and that there is not the 
slightest fear that I shall ever marry her.’ Just then the 
supper-bell rang, and Miss Van Volkenburg tripped off 
to assist her aunt at the supper-table. 

I went up to my room sick and disheartened. A few 


26 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


mornings afterward we took that walk up the mountain 
and met Mr. Bryce. Perhaps I have been under a sort 
of spell since then, but it is no use,” Gabrielle said, shak- 
ing her head. ‘‘ If Jack falls in love with Stella Con- 
way or anybody else, I suppose I must get over it ; but 
it will be such a<^disappointment that I will follow in the 
footsteps of Mary Somerset, and never marry at all. 
Now you have heard my confession, Agnes, and I know 
I have thoroughly scandalized you by the want of 
delicacy I have shown in so openly admitting how much 
I love Jack ; but at least you will have to give me credit 
for being honest. I am a Christian, and if the worst 
comes to the worst, I will bear up as bravely as any one 
could.” 

What Agnes was thinking of during her sister’s re- 
cital was the injustice which had been done Gabrielle 
by the young woman who had insinuated that she was 
simply making use of Horace Bryce as a means of open- 
ing John Fulton’s eyes by jealousy. Gabrielle’s avowal 
was an immense relief to Agnes. 

” I don’t know whether you have realized it or not,’' 
Agnes remarked, when Gabrielle had finished speak- 
ing, ” but it is very plain to me that Horace Bryce is 
in love with you.” 

Gabrielle started a little at the serious tone of her 
sister’s voice. 

‘‘You really do not believe that, do you ?” she ex- 
claimed, as her eyes opened wide with wonder. 

Agnes said she was sure of it. 

Gabrielle still doubted. 


PASSING SNADOPVS. 


127 


“ Of course I could see that he liked to visit us, but 
I never imagined that he had any great fondness for 
me ; surely you exaggerate.” 

“ I don’t think that I exaggerate one little bit. The 
reason I speak so seriously to you is, that if you do not 
care for him, you should not let him misunderstand 
you. Even I, myself, not knowing all the circum- 
stances, had begun to imagine that you had transferred 
your affection from Jack to him.” 

Gabrielle dropped her eyes to the carpet and com- 
menced to make little folds in her skirt. 

” I am not as fickle as that, though I suppose I de- 
serve to be thought so. I admit that I was always glad 
to see Mr. Bryce, but,” she added, rising, “it is all 
over now. I don’t want to see him any more.” 

The next evening Horace Bryce called, and Agnes en- 
tertained him. Gabrielle was indisposed and could not 
be seen. He did not remain long, and when going 
asked Agnes anxiously to let him know in the morning, 
through Jack Fulton, how Gabrielle felt. Agnes 
watched him as he made his way along the street, until 
he disappeared around the corner. 

” It will be very hard,” she said to herself, ” for him 
to give her up. ” 

The next morning a district' messenger boy rang the 
bell and delivered a bouquet of flowers to Agnes, who 
came to the door. It was sent by Horace Bryce to Ga- 
brielle, and on the back of his card was written^ ” 8$) 
sorry you are ill.” 

Gabrielle put the flowers away. 


128 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ T/te cosey fire is bright and gay. 


The i7ierry kettle boils away 
And hu77is a cheerful so7tg. 

I sing, the saucer and the cufi ; 
Pray, Mary, fill the teafiot up, 
A7id do not Tnake it stro7ig.” 


N a Friday evening about the middle of November, 



the back windows of the row of tenements in 
Forsyth Street, where live the “ Children of the Ghetto,” 
were bright with the light of many candles, and old 
men, with prayer shawls over their shoulders, were 
moving their arms and heads to and fro as they said 
their evening prayers. The Shabbas or Sabbath day of 
the Jews had already begun. They keep more closely 
to their religious rites and ceremonies in Forsyth Street 
than do their richer brethren who live on Lexington 
Avenue, A few times a year these Hebrews form in 
processions and march up Second Avenue, carrying 
transparencies on which are emblazoned the legends, 
‘‘Eight Hours is a Day’s Work”; “Down with the 
Sweaters”; “Pants Makers’ Association— 'Crush Mo- 
nopoly,” and like sentiments in English and Hebrew. 
During the rest of the year they are very quiet, and 
sometimes very poor. 

In the back room of the Crystals, the windows of 


PASSING SI/A DO IV S. 


129 


which looked out on the rear windows of the houses in 
Foisyth Street, four young ladies sat sewing for the 
indigent, on this Friday evening. There are a great 
many poor people living in the district enclosed by 
Houston Street, the Bowery, and Grand Street. Some 
of them are poor because they have not the strength to 
do hard work, or because they are not practical enough 
to make money ; some because they do not know how 
to keep money after they have earned it ; others are 
poor because it pays; and a minority are poor by spells, 
because they cannot reconcile themselves to the fact 
that people living in the same house with them should 
get relief and they not have a finger in the pie. 

An early cold snap in the beginning of the month had 
reminded Agnes Crystal that it was time to begin sew- 
ing for the needy ones. She had gathered about her to 
compose her sewing school three members besides her- 
self — Gabrielle, Stella Conway, and Mary Somerset. 
They gave two evenings of the week to the work, and 
during the winter accomplished a great deal. 

“ Say, Agnes," the Authoress remarked, as they all 
sat about the open grate fire, " I believe this makes the 
third quilt we have finished so far this month, and you 
have not disposed of any of them as yet. What seems 
to be the matter with the worthy poor ? Do they draw 
the line at your quilts ?" 

Agnes looked up from her work and smiled. 

" Don't get discouraged, Stella ; the winter is young 
yet. I gave away so many things last year to people 
who did not need them, that I am a little tired of 


130 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


being fooled. This winter I intend to use more judg- 
ment.” 

” I’ll tell you what we will do,” said Gabrielle, with 
the glare of the fire lighting up her face ; “let us make 
another, and then we will have one each. A bitter cold 
night is sure to come along soon. When it does, we 
can take the quilts down to the street, and the first four 
frozen-looking men we see, we will wrap the quilts 
about them, and then charge back to the house.” 

‘‘ Second the motion ! as we say at our club,” ex- 
claimed the Authoress. ” That is a brilliant idea. Gay. 
In fact, it’s the true Christian spirit — going out into 
the highways and byways and clothing poor, unpro- 
tected men who have no place to go but ‘ out.’ 
Wouldn’t it be a consolation for us,” she continued, 
dropping her voice in mock sadness, ” when coming 
home of a winter’s evening from a dollar seat in a warm 
theatre, to see a man lying asleep in a big truck in 
Eldridge Street, wrapped up in one of our quilts ? 
Why, our society would become famous, and the news- 
paper reporters would be looking for our photographs, 
so as to write up articles on the S. P. S. C. — the Society 
for the Promotion of Sleeping in Carts.” 

” I am afraid that we are famous already,” said Mary 
Somerset, interrupting the voluble Authoress. Mary 
Somerset was older than the other members of the sew- 
ing school. She had fallen in love with a young man 
who gave promise of a brilliant future, but filled an 
early grave. The politicians of the district in which he 
lived, noticing his cleverness, had persuaded him to give 


PASS/ JVC SHADOWS. 


131 

up his position in a good business and enter politics. 
He did so, and soon afterward began staying out late at 
night and drinking. Mary Somerset waited for him to 
change, until the bloom had left her cheeks and little 
lines appeared at the corners of her eyes. One election 
night he caught cold, and it developed into hasty con- 
sumption. She helped his mother nurse him until he 
died. Then the two women lived together, and Mary 
Somerset thought no more of marriage. 

When Agnes Crystal spoke of forming a sewing school 
on a small scale, she asked to be made one of the mem- 
bers. 

“ You young girls will need some old, motherly per- 
son to look after you,” she said, with a smile ; “ and I 
certainly am old enough to fill that position. You can 
see for yourself that my hair is quite gray in places.” 

” Yes,” replied Agnes, ” I noticed it ; but doesn’t it 
look cute ?” 

“Exactly,” she replied, laughing; “only most 
women can’t see the cuteness.” 

“ What has happened to make us famous, Mary ?” in- 
quired Gabrielle. “ I did not think anybody knew of 
our existence.” 

“ Oh, yes, we are known ; and we have been talked 
about in a disparaging way.” 

“Who has been talking about us?” the Authoress 
inquired, going through a little com.edy of rolling up 
her sleeves. 

“ You know old Mr. Fitzgerald, one of the officers of 
the society attached to the church for helping the 


132 


PASSING SHADOIVS. 


poor?” said Mary Somerset. ‘‘Well, he met me one 
day on Grand Street, and opened fire on me immedi- 
ately. ‘ See here. Miss Somerset,' he began, throwing 
his head to one side in a comical way that is all his 
own, ‘ do you belong to that sewing association in 
Eldridge Street ? ’ Of course I pleaded guilty imme- 
diately, thinking that he might have been deputed by 
his society to compliment us on our work, ‘ Well,’ he 
said, ‘ you can tell Agnes Crystal for me that it would 
be a great deal more sensible if she would spend her 
time in making her own clothes, instead of making 
clothes for people who only go and sell them.’ ” 

‘‘ What did you say ?” eagerly inquired the Author- 
ess, sniffing the air. 

‘‘ At first I was somewhat taken aback. His words 
surprised me more than a little, but as soon as I recov- 
ered myself I said, ‘ Oh, you brute ! ’ ” 

” You did ?” exclaimed the rest of the sewing school 
in surprise and admiration. 

‘‘ Yes ; but I said it to myself.” 

” Oh!” drawled the Authoress, in a disappointed 
way. ” Your voice, Mary, is always sweet and low, like 
the wind of the western sea. Why don't you cultivate 
a louder tone for special occasions, as, for instance, 
when you call a man ‘ a brute ’ ?” 

” Did you say anything more to yourself ?” Gabrielle 
asked. 

“No; after calling him a brute pianissimo, I then 
told him out loud that I thought we had done a great 
deal of good during the last winter, ‘ You think so, do 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


133 


you ?’ he said. ‘ Well, listen to me. You know the fam- 
ily you assisted last winter, in the basement of the rear 
house in Chrystie Street ? ’ ‘I remember them,’ I an- 
swered. ‘ Well,’ he continued, drawing himself up like 
an ogre, and looking down on me, ‘ I dropped in to see 
them one day last winter at dinner-time, when I knew 
they would not expect me, and what do you think they 
had spread out on the table ? ’ ‘ Oh, something to eat, 

probably,’ I replied.” The sewing school smiled. 
” ‘ Arrah now. Miss Somerset, but you are very smart. 
It’s true they did have something to eat — something 
that you didn’t have to eat all winter. There was 
canned asparagrass [how he did lengthen that word !], 
canned salmon, and canned lobster, do you mind ? 
When did you have canned lobster and canned aspara- 
grass, my young lady, I’d like to know ? ’ ” 

” You should have told him,” interrupted the Author- 
ess, ” that probably their stomachs were so weak from 
long fasting that they could not retain rough food.” 

” Perhaps I should have, but he did not give me the 
chance. He went right on. ‘ Moreover,’ he said, ‘ one 
of the members of our society was in the Bowery Bank 
one day last winter making a deposit. The woman you 
were relieving stood just in front of him. He was sur- 
prised to see her there at all, but he was more surprised 
when he saw her deposit one hundred dollars in her 
own name. Just think of it, and us paying for canned 
lobsters and canned asparagrass.’ ” 

” I gave him a sort of superior look, and said, ‘ Mr. 
Fitzgerald, I am much obliged to you for bringing this 


134 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


matter to my notice. We will investigate the case.^ 
‘ Arrah you will ! ’ he said. ‘ You’ll investigate your 
eye. Just tell Agnes Crystal that she had better do her 
mother’s housework, and not be making ducks and 
drakes of herself. If we have our hands full in trying 
to keep from being fooled, it’s certain you girls will do 
more harm than good.’ ” 

“Well,” sighed Agnes, “ I suppose we are innocents.” 

“ I haven’t the least doubt about that,” the Author- 
ess rejoined ; “ but I would not plead guilty to an old 
crank like Mr. Fitzgei'ald.” 

“ Say, girls,” exclaimed Gabrielle, who had risen 
from her seat to get something out of her work-basket, 
“ there’s old Mr. Stein saying his prayers !” 

Lighted candles blazed in the back windows of nearly 
all the houses opposite, throwing a glare down into the 
yards, which revealed a number of push-carts and coops 
for keeping geese and chickens. Through one of the 
windows an old man with a prayer shawl over his 
shoulders could be seen standing in prayer. The 
Authoress was the most interested of the group in 
Gabrielle’s remark, and jumped up immediately from 
her chair. 

“ Mr.' Stein, did you say ? Does he keep a crockery 
store in Forsyth Street, and has he a small daughter by 
the name of Rachel ?” 

“ That’s the man,” Gabrielle assented. 

The Authoress shook her clenched fist at him. “ He 
kept me from getting a diamond ring.” 

Gabrielle looked at her for an explanation. 


PASSING SIIADOIVS. 


135 


“ I have been promised five diamond rings, and I 
never yet received one of them.” 

” Were they engagement rings, Stella ?” asked Mary 
Somerset, who just then joined the group. 

” No, indeed, they were not. The first one who 
promises me an engagement ring will have to keep his 
word or there will be war. But let me tell you about 
this particular ring. Just before Chiistmas every year 
a number of the girls in my class come to me and 
whisper into my ear that they are going to give me all 
sorts of jewelled things for presents. I always discour- 
age them by saying that I don’t wish anything, except 
that they be good children, and then they will be my 
jewels, as Cornelia, the Roman matron, said. A short 
while before Christmas Rachel Stein came to me at my 
desk and whispered, ‘ Teacher, I’m going to give you 
such a diamond ring for Christmas.’ Instead of dis- 
couraging her, as I usually did in such cases, I thought 
that it would be interesting to see the matter through ; 
so I said, ‘ Please, Rachel, don’t bring me too large a 
diamond ring, as I am not fond of show.’ About two 
days before the holidays began, little Rachel, after the 
other children had gone home, came up to me in a bash- 
ful kind of a way, and holding up her hand, said, 
‘Please, teacher.’ ‘ Well, what’s the matter, child?’ 
I asked, gathering her to my bosom. ‘ Mamma,’ she 
answered, sobbing, ‘ wanted to give you a diamond 
ring, but papa said no he can’t, because it stands on 
the newspapers that there are six hundred thousand 
men out of work.’ ” 


136 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ That reminds me of an incident that happened one 
Christmas when I was teaching down in Rivington 
Street,” said Mary Somerset, after the girls had stopped 
laughing. ” I had two little Jewish girls in my class, 
and one day the younger of the two shook her hand at 
me violently, and said, ‘ Teacher, this girl says that 
Santy Clothes is her uncle.’ The other child jumped 
up immediately and defended herself by saying. 

‘ Teacher, I only said that Santy Clothes looks like my 
uncle, ’cause he has such a white beard like him.’ To 
settle things, I asked the girl who was accused to put 
out her tongue, and then I exclaimed in pretended hor- 
ror, ‘ Oh, what made that great black mark on your 
tongue ? ’ Quick as a flash came the answer, ‘ Teacher, 
I forgot to wash my tongue this morning.’ ” 

” What did you say to her ?” asked the Authoress. 

” Nothing, except not to forget to wash her tongue 
for the future. Her ingenuity quite overcame me.” 

Mr. Crystal’s voice from the front room, summoning 
Gabrielle, broke up the party at the window. 

” Trim the lamp for us. Gay ; it is beginning to 
smoke,” her father said. 

Gabrielle trimmed the wick and afterward brought a 
box of cigars. Mr. Crystal left the table for a moment, 
and Gabrielle offered the cigars to his partner in the 
game, John Fulton. 

He took one, and at the same time remarked with 
a smile, ” You are a wonderfully good little girl. 
Gay.” 

She turned aside as he spoke, and said to herself in a 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


137 


low, impatient tone of voice, “ Oh, compliments are 
cheap ! ’ ’ 

He was putting a lighted match to the end of his 
cigar, but paused as he caught her whispered words. 
“ Don’t you think I mean what I say ?” he asked, touch- 
ing the match to the cigar, and burning his fingers in 
his distraction. 

“ Yes, I suppose you mean it as much as you mean 
anything you say to me.” 

The tone of her voice startled him. He turned and 
looked at her, and saw that her eyes were wet. “ Why, 
Gay, have I hurt you ?” he asked with a good deal of 
tenderness. 

An uncontrollable sob broke from her. “ One doesn’t 
like to be treated always like a little girl,” she answered, 
as she walked away, blinking back the tears. 

John Fulton followed her with his eyes as she left the 
room. ” I have unwittingly wounded her,” he said to 
himself, ” by calling her a little girl.” 

Mr. Crystal returned to the table, and the play went 
on. 

” Your luck has gone back on you. Jack,” he said, as 
he won the second game in succession. 

But it was distraction and not poor luck that made 
Jack Fulton play so badly. Never before had there 
been any misunderstanding between him and Gabrielle. 
He blamed himself for his stupidity in not having 
noticed that Gabrielle was really a young woman, and 
ought not to be spoken to like a child. To him she had 
remained the same little Gabrielle Crystal, with large. 


138 


PASSLVG SHADOIVS. 


black eyes shining out from under a big hat, and a 
wealth of black hair hanging down her back. She was 
only thirteen when he was twenty. Now she was over 
nineteen and he was twenty-six. They had lived all 
these years in the houses adjoining. Both their families 
had been intimately acquainted. From a childish ad- 
miration for John Fulton, who had always been her 
defender in trouble and consoler in sorrow, Gabrielle 
had come to love him. Such a thought had never en- 
tered into his mind, and so it happened that she passed 
from girlhood to maidenhood, and blossomed into a 
lovely young woman, but to him she still had remained 
“ little Gay.” Once or twice of late he had looked at 
her wonderingly for a moment, and seemed to realize 
that she had become a young woman ; but then he 
would forget all about it a moment after, and go on 
treating her like a child. 

The other members of the quilting party had put aside 
their needles before Gabrielle came back. She had 
been bathing her eyes in cold water to blot out all evi- 
dence of her tears. Her friends were drinking tea when 
she joined them. 

” Come and sit down by my side,” said the Author- 
ess, making room for her. She took the proffered seat. 
” Now say your grace after me, ‘ God — bless — the — 
man — who — first — invented — tea ! ’ ” 

Gabrielle only smiled as she reached for the sugar. 

” Why don’t you do as I tell you ?” the Authoress 
asked. 

” Because I don’t believe that it was a man who in- 


PASS/JVC SHADOWS, 


139 


vented tea. I am sure it was a woman. Men get credit 
for too much.” 

The Authoress drew in her breath in an attempted 
whistle, to indicate her surprise. 

” That’s what comes of reading newspaper accounts 
of women’s rights’ speeches ! However, Gay, I agree 
with you that men do get credit for more than they de- 
serve ; but in this case the honor belongs to a man, and 
I will tell you all about it if you keep quiet. 

” Once upon a time — a long time ago, as all good 
stories begin — there was a Chinese nobleman ; not 
like one of the linen washers to the American nation, 
but a Prince Charming. He was in love with one of 
the ladies-in-waiting to the Celestial court, ‘ a little blue 
pigeon with velvet eyes. ’ Each afternoon at five o’clock, 
which was the only time that he could visit her, she 
was, it seems, afflicted with a violent headache. Every- 
thing was tried to give her relief, but in vain. All the 
medicine-men of the kingdom came to see her, but they 
failed miserably. The young lover was distracted with 
grief. He would walk up and down the gardens of the 
palace, in the hot sunshine and cool moonlight, won- 
dering in agony whether there was not some balm in 
Gilead which would bring a respite to his best-beloved. 
One morning while walking in the garden he chanced 
upon a bird’s nest in a mulberry-bush. On examining 
the nest, he found that one of the little birds was ill. 
The bird’s sufferings appealed to him. He kept a close 
watch on the nest, and he noticed that about three 
times a day the mother bird would fly to a far-off field 


140 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


at the end of the garden, and taking two or three leaves 
from what was then supposed to be a weed, would 
steep them in a little rain-water which was in the hol- 
low of a tree next to the nest. After the sun had pretty 
well heated the water in which the leaves were steeped, 
the mother bird would then fill her bill with it and give 
to the sick one to drink. The prince noticed, to his 
surprise, that the little bird would immediately recover 
its strength and begin to chirp gayly. In a week’s 
time it was completely revived and just as strong as its 
brothers and sisters. ‘ So will my own little bird be 
cured,’ reasoned the nobleman. He forthwith gath- 
ered a handful of leaves, steeped them in hot water, 
and brought the concoction to his lady-love the next 
afternoon at five-o’clock. The cure was instantaneous. 
That’s how five-o’clock teas came so much into vogue. 
So you see, Gay,” continued the Authoress, ” that it 
was a man who discovered tea, although it’s a consola- 
tion to know that he would never have known anything 
about it were it not for a female bird.” 

” You authoresses make up so many stories,” Ga- 
brielle replied, as she raised her cup to her lips, ” that 
one never knows when to believe you. However, even 
if what you say be true, it still remains a fact that tea is 
a woman’s drink. ” 

The clock struck ten, and the Authoress jumped up 
from her chair, saying that she must hurry home. 

” But before I go, Gay, I must contradict you once 
more. We have been discussing Dr. Johnson at our 
literary club this week, and now I remember that he 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


141 

used to drink about seventeen cups of tea at one sitting. 
So what you say about tea -being a woman’s drink don’t 
seem to hold, because he was a most virile man.” 

” Perhaps he fell under a trolley car and had his legs 
cutoff, which would necessitate his sitting all the time.” 
” No ; he had both his legs, for I saw his picture.” 

” Well, then, I don’t care how manly he was, he must 
have been a good deal of a woman to drink seventeen 
cups of tea at one meal.” 

” Exactly,” exclaimed the Authoress ; ” that’s just 
what I think, that Dr Johnson must have been more 
womanish than literary critics ever imagined. I will 
bring that question up at our next meeting. It’s just 
the kind of a question for an East Side literary club to 
tear the heart out of.” 

Agnes accompanied Mary Somerset and the Author- 
ess to the door. 

” Did you tell Gay,” inquired the Authoress, ” that 
Jack Fulton had taken me to the theatre ?” 

Agnes nodded her head in assent. 

” And did it succeed ?” 

” Perfectly.” 

‘‘ She has come back to Jack again ?” 

Agnes nodded. 

” Oh, my !” the Authoress exclaimed, 

“ ‘ Love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit. ’ 

I suppose it will not be necessary for me to inveigle 
Jack into taking me to the theatre again, will it ?” 


142 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ No,” replied Agnes ; ” I think you had better not.’ 

‘‘ Whatever you say — only ;t was fun.” 

” Come, Stella,” called Mary Somerset, who was out 
on the sidewalk ; ” it’s getting late ;” and they vanished 
down the cold, deserted street. 

The clock striking ten put an end to the chess-play- 
ing. Gabrielle had remained in the back room sipping 
another cup of tea. John Fulton asked for her, and 
Mrs. Ciystal called her into the room. 

” What’s the matter. Gay ?” her mother asked ; “you 
look as if you were sleepy.” 

‘‘ So I am,” she answered, reaching out her hand to 
John Fulton without looking up at him. 

He took the outstretched hand, and held it for a 
moment in his grasp, until he forced her to raise her 
eyes. When she did so she saw a look of pain in his. 
It was their first quarrel, and never before had he 
looked at her like that. The anger in her voice and 
the tears in her eyes had done their work. They made 
him realize for the first time that she had ceased to be 
a child. When she noticed how pained he seemed, she 
felt sorry for her anger, and tried to show him by a 
quick look that she had repented ; and the bad ” quar- 
ter of an hour” was over for both. 


FASSfNG SHADOWS, 


143 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ Heartily know. 

When half -gods go, 

The gods arrive." 

' I ^HE next time Horace Bryce visited the Crystals 

-L Gabrielle chanced not to be at home. He could 
not conceal his disappointment. He began to suspect 
that some change had come over her. She had not 
sent him by John Fulton any invitation to call. After 
thinking the matter over for a day or two, he concluded 
to write to her. He sat down at his desk and began 
the letter, but before he had made much progress word 
was brought into the office that John Fulton’s mother 
had died the previous night. 

At the news Horace Bryce tore up the unfinished 
note, and determined to go down that evening to offer 
his condolence to John Fulton, feeling certain that he 
would meet Gabrielle. 

When he was ushered by Agnes Crystal into the 
room where the mother lay, he found John Fulton lean- 
ing over the body and Gabrielle standing opposite to 
him. After offering his sympathy to his bereaved 
friend, he reached out his hand over the coffin and 
shook hands with Gabrielle. He noticed that she 
seemed very nervous, and her hand trembled in his. 


144 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


She did not raise her eyes to look at him. Once during 
the evening he tried to get a chance to have a long talk 
with her, and told her of his great disappointment at 
missing her the last time he called. She apologized 
and said that it was an accident, that she did not ex- 
pect him, and then she excused herself and left him. 
He made no other attempt that evening to come to an 
understanding with her. 

Two days afterward John Fulton’s mother was buried. 
Horace Bryce, with several others from the post-office, 
attended the funeral. The day was cold and sadden- 
ing, and the long ride to the cemetery was a dreary 
one. The wind drove the fine dust along the road in 
clouds, whitening the unbroken line of coaches which 
were following four hearses on their way to the “ city 
of the dead.” The narrow creek which ran for a long 
way near the road looked cold and black as the wind 
roughed the water. 

It took but a short time to pile up the earth on the 
coffin, and the cemetery was so damp that the mourners 
were glad to hurry back to their carriages. 

Horace Bryce, noticing that Gabrielle was struggling, 
without success, to fasten the top button of the long 
winter cloak which enveloped her, came over to her 
side, and slipping off his glove, offered to help her. She 
made one more desperate effort when she noticed him 
coming, but only succeeded in bruising her numbed 
finger. She submitted to his good offices, but in a way 
which plainly showed him that she would rather have 
avoided him. He blushed as he drew on his glove 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


145 


again, and remarked somewhat sadly, “ You seem to 
have changed considerably in your manner of acting 
toward me of late. Miss Crystal. I hope I have not 
unconsciously offended you in any way.” 

She had come out from among the graves and was 
standing by the roadside. The chill wind swept the 
dead leaves down the little narrow alleys between the 
graves and out into the roadway, some of them cling- 
ing to the fur trimming around the bottom of her coat. 
She paused as he spoke to her, but made no answer. 

“You seem to have changed toward me of late,” he 
repeated, digging his cane into the earth. 

” How ?” she asked, playing with the withered leaves 
which blew against the ferrule of her umbrella. 

” I feel that you are not as glad to see me as you 
were before,” he replied. ” In fact, that you have 
even purposely avoided me.” 

His words did not denote anger, but pain. Gabrielle 
noticed this, and it helped to take away her courage. 
” If he would only get angry,” she reasoned, ” it would 
be more easy to meet him.” 

Her voice was low and apologetic as she answered 
him. ” I was ill, you know, the first time you called ; 
on the second occasion I was not at home.” 

He drew a little nearer to her and said, with great 
seriousness : ” I don’t know whether you are aware of 
it or not. Miss Crystal, but you have played a most im- 
portant part in my life since the day I first met you 
climbing the mountains.” 

The remembrance of his many kindnesses came back 


146 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


to her and added to her misery. She felt tempted for 
a moment to run away to her carriage, but that would 
be too cowardly. She was beginning to see now how 
right Agnes had been in her surmises. 

“ That is why,” he continued, as he snapped off a 
piece of the dry branch of a tree that was hanging over 
his head, ” this evident change in your way of acting 
toward me has hurt me so much.” 

” I assure you, Mr. Bryce,” she replied, ” I did not 
wish to do anything that might give you pain. I am 
not forgetful of all the kindness you have shown me.” 

” Since the very first day we met. Miss Crystal,” he 
went on, not seeming to regard what she had said, 
” I have admired and more than liked you. I was just 
beginning to fancy that you cared something for me, 
when suddenly your whole manner toward me changed 
— for what reason I cannot imagine. A graveyard is 
a poor place to say what I feel I must say, but you will 
forgive my speaking here when I tell you that I cannot 
stand any longer the pain of suspense. The fact is. 
Miss Crystal, that I love you.” 

This unexpected declaration came so quickly that 
Gabrielle was for the moment stunned. She gathered 
her thoughts together after a little, and then she felt so 
weak that she was sure she would faint. She looked 
about the graveyard helplessly, until suddenly, through 
the leafless bushes, she caught sight of the pale, 
sad face of John Fulton, as he was stooping over his 
mother’s grave to pluck a few white roses from a cross 
of flowers which rested on it. The sight strengthened 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


147 


her. The rallied color ran through her white cheeks, 
and she felt her heart strong within her. She was sur- 
prised at her own coolness as she spoke. 

“ I never suspected for an instant, Mr Bryce, that 
you had for me any more than an ordinary friendship. 
Your words are a great surprise to me, and I have only 
one answer to make. I am thankful for your kindness 
and feel honored by your friendship, but anything like 
love is out of the question.” 

Each word was uttered slowly and distinctly. The 
sight of John Fulton had determined her to finish for- 
ever a disagreeable task. 

” Some weeks back,” he answered in a tone of remon- 
strance, ” I judged from your apparent gladness at 
seeing me whenever we met, that you did think some- 
thing of me. I had hoped that one day you might 
come to love me.” 

” I am sorry, then,” she answered, ” if anything in 
my manner caused you to have such an idea. I am 
sure I never intended to convey it.” 

Agnes’s hand waving in the air attracted the atten- 
tion of Gabrielle. 

” My sister is beckoning me,” she said. 

They started to walk back to the carriages. The 
wind moaned dismally in the tree-tops, and tore the few 
remaining dead leaves from the branches, flicking them 
now anjd then against their faces. For several moments 
both were silent as they hurried along the road. When 
they came opposite to where Gabrielle’s carriage was 
standing, they found that the way was blocked by a 


148 


PASSING SI/ADOIVS. 


large, white slab, which had fallen from its pedestal. 
He reached out his hand to her to help her over it. 
She took the proffered hand, and when she was safely 
over the fallen tombstone, he held her hand for a mo- 
ment and asked, in a bitter tone, “ Have you avoided 
me these last few weeks because of some one else of 
whom you are growing fonder ?’' 

The question angered Gabrielle, and she flashed back, 
“ I do not think you have a right to ask me such a ques- 
tion. I consider it insulting, and I refuse to answer it 
or to listen to any more of that kind of talk.^’ 

Horace Bryce had been quick enough to see the 
change that came over Gabrielle when she caught sight 
of John Fulton. Immediately he concluded that the 
reason of her behavior toward himself must be a grow- 
ing fondness for John Fulton. They walked on a few 
steps farther, and then he turned to her and apologized. 

“ I am sorry that I have angered you. In fact, I 
have been very stupid to talk to you the way I did in 
such a dreary place and on such a bleak day. I really 
do not deserve anything better than a refusal for acting 
so stupidly. So let’s blot to-day’s work off the slate 
altogether,” he added with an attempt at gayety, “and 
for the time being we can continue good friends.” 

” But, Mr. Bryce,” she protested, ” I mean my an- 
swer to be final.” 

He silenced her by saying, ” Hush, they will hear 
you !” 

John Fulton rode back from the cemetery in company 
with Mrs. Crystal and her two daughters. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


49 


I cannot sleep at home to-night,” he said; “it 
would be too lonesome. I will pack up some things in 
a valise and go uptown and stop with my cousins for a 
few days. I am sorry to leave the old house, but I 
cannot bear to live there any longer. As soon as I am 
able to settle things, I shall probably board somewhere 
near my relations.” 

Every word he uttered was like the stroke of a ham- 
mer beating on Gabrielle’s heart. Fortunately for her 
the thick black veil she wore concealed the pallor of 
her cheeks. 

The sense of loneliness was heavy upon John Fulton 
as he packed his valise in the rooms from which his 
mother’s dead body had been carried out that day. 
The old house in which he had lived for so many years, 
and from which both his father and mother had been 
buried, had a charm for him. It was hard to leave it, 
but he knew that to remain there, even if it were prac- 
ticable, would only add to his sorrow. 

He took supper with the Crystals, and after finishing 
a cigar with Mr. Crystal started uptown. 

A few days later he returned to the rooms to take 
away whatever he prized and to dispose of the rest. 
When he came to say good-bye to Gabrielle, he whis- 
pered, ” I hope you have forgiven me for offending you 
the other evening.” The rest of the family were 
standing about, and Gabrielle controlled her feelings, 
asking his forgiveness for being so ill-tempered. 

So John Fulton, having lived most of his life in 
Eldridge Street, broke away from his friends, and went 


T50 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


to live in a furnished room higher up in the city. And 
having laid his mother away in the grave, he took up 
his rather cheerless life again, starting out every morn- 
ing in the rain or the shine with his brown leather bag 
full of letters. 

After his day’s work was over he would return to his 
home, if a furnished room be a home, and read and 
smoke until the cuckoo clock on the mantel — a favorite 
of his mother’s — would warn him of the lateness of the 
hour. He lived on in this way, sunk in great gloom, 
for several weeks, occasionally visiting his cousins, who 
resided in the vicinity, when suddenly there began to 
spring up within him a longing to go down and see the 
Crystals. 

To meet them again would be a great joy. He would 
sit at night alone in his room and think of them, always 
with great fondness. ' But most of all he would see in 
the bluish-gray smoke of his cigar, as it circled in a 
cloud about him, the figure of a young girl with big, 
black eyes, who would suddenly, as the cloud of smoke 
shifted, become transformed into a full-grown young 
woman, standing by a chess-table with those same 
black eyes flooded with tears. 

You get the right perspective when you draw away 
somewhat fi'om a picture. John Fulton’s separation 
from Gabrielle Crystal was now beginning to furnish 
him with the right perspective. He had shortly before 
he left Eldridge Street awakened to the fact that Ga- 
brielle was no longer a child. Sitting alone in his room 
during those quiet winter nights, and seeing her in the 


PASSING SI/ADOJVS. 


151 

waving cloud of smoke above him, he began to have a 
longing for her such as he had never felt before. So 
strange a thing is that which men call love. Separate 
two ardent lovers for a sufficient length of time, and in 
a majority of cases they will learn to forget each other. 
Then again bring about a separation between two who 
are only friends, and the separation will ripen the friend- 
ship into love. Indeed, the human heart is ever an 
anomaly, and in affaires du cceur it is impossible to lay 
down any law. 

A sentimental poet has embalmed his feelings for us 
in these, if not great, at least well-known lines ; 

“ From sport to sport they hurry me, 

To banish my regret ; 

And when they win a smile from me, 

They fancy I forget. ’ ’ 

No doubt there are cases such as this verse describes, 
but as a rule such “ constancy lives in realms above.” 
Even the poet who wrote these lines learned to forget 
and marry another, so we are told. Wise mothers know 
well that there is a limited supply of such fidelity on 
this green earth. An extended trip to ” fields and 
pastures new” is a famous way to make daughters for- 
get an old but undesirable love. Shakespeare, who 
knew the hearts of men and women, has left this 
record : 

“ Men have died from time to time, and 
worms have eaten them, but not for love.” 

It seems, therefore, that in this matter of love little 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


152 

can be counted on as certain. The separation of two 
lovers may end their love, or again separation may be 
like the wind which fans the spark into a flame. 

It happened in this latter way with John Fulton. The 
new image of Gabrielle Crystal, which kept coming up 
before him, charmed him. He found himself growing 
strangely fond of her, and a great longing to see her 
took hold of him. He looked at his clock one evening 
as he finished his third cigar, and saw that it was after 
one o’clock, and that he had been dreaming for hours 
about her. As he wound up his alarm-clock he made 
two resolutions. 

One was to give over this dreaming and to retire 
earlier, so as to preserve his strength for his hard work ; 
the second resolution was to go down the next evening 
to see the Crystals. He kept the second resolution. 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


153 


CHAPTER XIV. 

y dear, I don't think that I thought of much 
Before we k?iew each other, I and you ; 

A?td now, why, fofui, your least, least fi7tger-touch 
Gives me e7iough to think a su77i77ier through." 

I T was near the middle of December. The bread- 
winners who left their homes on the East Side at 
seven o’clock in the morning were gladdened by the 
bright winter’s sunshine. When their employers, living 
uptown, stepped out of their houses at nine o’clock the 
sun had been blotted out by the great clouds which the 
winds had whipped up suddenly from all parts of the sky. 
One would not have had to be a prophet or the son of 
a prophet to foretell that snow would fall before even- 
ing. Toward midday the air grew milder, and early in 
the afternoon the snow came. 

The large flakes were driven about like mad by the 
wind. Now they were dashed almost to the ground, 
and again they were swept fai' above the tops of the 
highest tenements in eddies, like autumn leaves in 
autumn winds. By night the snow lay deep upon 
everything. That same multitude, “ which no man can 
number,” that had started out to work in the early 
morning, was now returning. The snow acted upon 
them like an elixir. One would never have imagined 


154 


PASSING SNA no IPS. 


from their activity and their buoyant spirits, as they 
surged like waves through the side streets, that they 
had just finished a hard day’s work. The unrestrained 
laughter of young girls, the shouts of children at play, 
the jangled music of the sleigh-bells, the frantic yells 
of the men on the snow-plough made a discordant but 
merry uproar. 

A little after seven o’clock the same evening, as a 
downtown train of the Elevated Road, wrapped in 
steam and falling snow, came to a halt at the Houston 
Street station, John Fulton stepped off, and reaching 
the street, turned toward the east and crossed the 
Bowery, meeting a friend who was going in the same 
direction. The pace John Fulton set must have been a 
smart one, for in a shoit time his fiiend lemarked, 
“ You must be in a huiry. Jack, you walk so fast.” 

” Oh, is that a fact ?” he answered ; ” I did not notice 
that I was walking very briskly. I suppose it must be 
the air and the snow refreshing me.” 

They walked along a little farther at a more reason- 
able pace, but gradually John Fulton increased his 
speed unconsciously, and when they arrived at the 
house in which the Crystals lived his companion was out 
of breath. 

‘‘ I wouldn’t care to walk many miles with one of you 
letter-carriers,” the young man remarked as he left 
John Fulton at the door. 

But it was not because he was a letter-carrier that 
John Fulton hurried over the snow-covered streets, 
nor was it because of any ^exhilarating effect in the 


/’ASS/ JVC SHADOWS. 


55 


snow itself. It was the love that had just begun to 
spring up in his heart. 

At the same moment that John Fulton laid his hand 
on the bell to ring it, the door was opened, and Gabrielle 
and Agnes, dressed ready for walking, appeared in the 
hallway. As she opened the door, Gabrielle involun- 
tarily uttered a little cry of delight, and then, covered 
with blushes, fell back. Agnes came forward and took 
the outstretched hand of the young man, thus giving 
Gabrielle time to recover from her embarrassment. 

“ I grew so lonesome living uptown,” John Fulton 
said, as he took Gabrielle’s hand, ” that I made up my 
mind last night that the best thing' for me to do to 
shake off the continued blues fiom which I was suffer- 
ing was to come down to see you ; and now with my 
usual luck I have chosen the very evening you are going 
out.” 

” Oh, no ; w'e are not going out !” Gabrielle ex- 
claimed, as if the idea had never entered into their 
heads. There was a slight tremor in her voice, caused 
by a fear that he would not care to remain, lest he might 
cause them some inconvenience. 

” Agnes and I were only going down to Division 
Street to the milliner’s to look at some hats,” Gabiielle 
explained. ” She wishes to make me a present of a 
new one for Christmas, and she says that I am such a 
crank about my hats, that to be sure of not destroying 
the peace of the family at the blessed time of Christ- 
mas, she had better take me with her. As there is no 
bill of removal on the milliner’s store, I guess it will be 


PA SSIA^G SI/ A D 0 J VS. 


156 

safe to wait till to-morrow evening; so please,” she 
added, coaxingly, ” don’t imagine that you are forcing 
us to break any engagement.” 

” By all means come upstairs. Jack,” Agnes added. 
” It is infinitely more pleasant entertaining young men 
who are suffering from the blues than buying new hats.” 

He shook the snow from his overcoat, and they started 
up the short flight of stairs. 

” Mamma and papa will be so glad to see you,” Ga- 
brielle naively remarked. She made no mention of her 
own feelings in the matter. When she came to the 
door she knocked on it, just as if she were a visitor. 
Her father, who was reading the evening newspaper in 
the parlor, arose and opened the door. 

” Get the chess ready !” she exclaimed. 

Her father looked at her in surprise, and asked 
” What brings you back so soon V' Just then John 
Fulton appeared, and Mr. Crystal, who had been slow 
in comprehending his daughter’s words, extended his 
hand to his visitor, remarking with great friendliness, 
“You are mighty welcome. Jack ; we have greatly 
missed you.” 

” So the girls were good enough to say,” he replied 
as he took off his coat and handed it to Gabrielle ; 
” and I have missed you also. Living in a furnished 
room uptown is not like living in your mother’s house 
downtown. I have had many a lonesome hour since 
I left Eldridge Street.” 

” Well, then, you ought to come down here often,” 
Mr. Crystal replied ; ” and perhaps visiting us may 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


57 


make you happier, as it certainly will us. I miss that 
game of chess, and as for Gay there, as soon as she 
finishes her lightning grace before each meal she pro- 
poses the same question every time, ‘ I wonder when 
Jack will come down ? ’ ” 

“Oh, no, papa!” interrupted Gabrielle, blushing ; 
“ not three times a day.” 

“ Yes, three times a day,” he insisted, and Gabrielle 
ran out of the room to hide her blushes, and to tell her 
mother that a welcome visitor had arrived. 

John Fulton noticed Gabrielle’s red cheeks with 
pleasure. It made him happy with a new kind of hap- 
piness to hear that she had been thinking so constantly 
of him. Mrs. Crystal came into the room, and the con- 
versation turned on John Fulton’s dead mother and his 
own life uptown. 

As soon as the chance presented itself Mr. Crystal 
produced the chess men and ordered Gabrielle to clear 
off the table for the game. She made a feeble little 
protest, saying that it was so long since they had last 
seen Jack, that it would be more pleasant for him and 
for all to have a chat, and to leave the playing of chess 
for another evening. 

“ Tut, tut, child,” her father answered, “ don’t be 
silly ; Jack didn’t come down here to listen to your 
prattle ; he came especially for a game of chess.” 

John Fulton smiled across at Gabrielle, to tell her 
that her father was wrong. He would have been more 
pleased if Mr. Crystal had made no mention of playing, 
but he did not have the courage to say so, except to 


PASSING SNA nows. 


158 

Gabrielle, with his eyes. He drew his chair therefore 
up to the table and listlessly began the game. 

Gabrielle took a seat in the corner of the room, in 
the shadow, where she could watch his face. Now and 
then she stole a hurried glance at him. Once, when he 
was playing at the same game, their eyes met, and fiom 
his look she saw that he was tired of playing. 

A little while afterward a ball of worsted came rolling 
across the floor and struck his foot under the table. 
He understood immediately that it was intended as a 
message. He stooped and picked it up and brought it 
over to her. 

“What’s the matter?” inquired Mr. Crystal, im- 
patiently, ignorant that there was another little game 
being played in his parlor besides the game of chess. 

“ I let my ball of worsted fall, papa,” explained Ga- 
brielle innocently, “ and it rolled across the room to 
Jack, and he kindly brought it back to me.” 

“ Well, well, I never saw you better. Gay. I pity 
the poor man who marries you. Come along. Jack ; 
you always spoiled her by humoring her too much.” 

“ You are tired of playing, aren’t you ?” Gabrielle 
asked in a low tone of voice while her father was 
speaking. 

“ Yes, very,” he answered, as he reached her the ball 
of worsted ; “ but I don’t see how I am to get out of 
it.” 

“ Leave it to me, then,” she said. 

“ Hurry up. Jack,” broke in Mr. Crystal again, “ and 
don’t let that little ninnyhammer keep you talking.” 


PASSING SHADOIVS. 


159 


On this second invitation John Fulton came back 
quickly to the table. 

“ Now, as long as you disturbed the game, Gay,” re- 
marked her father, ” suppose you take these keys and 
bring me the box of cigars that are in the second drawer 
of the bureau. They are a new brand, Jack, and I want 
you to tell me what you think of them.” 

Gabrielle took the keys and brought the cigars. 
When she handed the box to John Fulton he playfully 
pressed her hand against it, pretending to hurt her, 
and looked up into her eyes. It was one of those move- 
ments which lovers understand so well. She thought 
of the last time she had offered him a box of cigars, 
and how full of bitterness and sadness her heart had 
then been. Things had now taken a turn. She was 
not slow to see that a great change had come over 
him. She saw the possibility of her hopes being real- 
ized, and she was very happy. In the giving and taking 
of that cigar Gabrielle, with a woman’s instinct, under- 
stood that he was beginning at last to love her. After 
she had supplied the smokers she slipped quietly out to 
join her mother, who was in the back room. 

” I think it’s an awful shame, mamma, the way papa 
monopolizes Jack. I can see Jack does not want to 
play chess any longer. He is continually yawning, and 
there is a bored look in his face, as if he was sorry he 
came to see us.” 

” Have a little patience, dear; they will be through 
shortly.” 

” No, they won’t !” Gabrielle replied angrily. ” You 


6o 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


know how long papa plays. If he is losing, he always 
v/ants ‘ Just one more game for revenge and if he is 
winning, he always wants ‘ One more game for the 
championship of Eldridge Street,’ or ‘Just one game 
for the championship of the ward,’ and he will keep on 
playing until it’s so late that Jack won’t have a minute 
to talk to us.” 

Mrs. Crystal smiled at the portrayal of her husband, 
recognizing how true Gabrielle’s description was. 

” I suppose, then, you want me to go in and put an 
end to the game ?” 

” Yes, I wish you would,” Gabrielle answered. ‘‘ If 
I ask papa to stop playing, he will call me a little ninny- 
hammer, whatever that means, and tell me not to bother 
him. ” 

Mrs. Crystal went quietly into the room where the 
players were. With feigned surprise she exclaimed to 
her husband, ” Oh, bo7i the cafe !" — making use of a 
French Canadian expression ior b ante' divine, which pious 
people do not like to use — ” you are very greedy, it 
seems to me, keeping Jack all to yourself.” She made a 
movement as if to clear the chess-men from off the table, 
but her husband protected them with his arm, and 
pleaded to finish the game, which he won easily. 

In a few moments John Fulton and Gabrielle were 
sitting in front of the fire chatting merrily. 

” I wish you and your mother and Agnes would take 
a run up to see me some evening,” he said ; ” I think 
I have chairs enough for all of you.” 

‘‘ We’ll be delighted to go,” she answered, ” even if 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


i6i 


we have to stand all the time or to sit on the win- 
dow-sill. Besides, we might be able to fix up your 
room a little for you and make a few ornaments 
for it.” 

“ You would be surprised to see how well it looks 
now,” he answered, in the blundering way of a man ; 
” my cousin, that young woman whom you met at my 
mother’s funeral, has arranged everything in very good 
taste.” 

Gabrielle sank back in her chair, somewhat disap- 
pointed, and then it dawned upon him how he had 
blundered in giving her the information. ” But if you 
were to come up,” he added quickly, hoping to take 
the sting out of what he had said, ” you could easily 
suggest many improvements, I am sure.” 

” That’s base flattery. Jack ; you don’t mean a word 
of it. You just said that because you noticed I was not 
able to conceal my disappointment.” 

” Well, perhaps,” he admitted slowly ; ” but flattery 
was not my motive. I wanted to impress upon you 
that it would have been more satisfactory to me to have 
you arrange my room than to have anybody else in the 
whole wide world do it.” His voice sounded sweet in 
her ears. ” You do not believe that is flattery, do you. 
Gay?” he asked. 

” No,” she answered in a whisper ; ” but you don’t 
think that it was wrong of me to show my disappoint- 
ment when you told me that your cousin had already 
fixed your room, do you ? I know that she has a greater 
right than I have to do anything for you.” 


i 62 


PASSING SNA no IV S. 


“ She has nothing of the kind. I’d rather please you 
than a whole army of cousins.” 

Mrs. Crystal, who had gone out of the room, just 
then came back, and Gabrielle turned to her mother, 
saying, “Jack has just been inviting all of us up to 
see his bachelor’s quarters. We will go, won’t we ?’' 

” Oh, certainly, if he wants us.” 

” He says he does; isn’t that sufficient ?” 

” I am anxious to have you all come up to my little 
home, so as to show you a new crayon of my mother 
which I have had made. I want to hear your opinion 
about it.” 

” We will certainly go, and just as soon as you wish 
us,” Mrs. Crystal answered. 

” It must be good fun to live in bachelor’s quarters,” 
Gabrielle remarked, her eyes brightening at the thought 
of the visit. 

” It may appear so, but I can assure you that I find it 
anything but pleasant. I understand now why men 
who live in bachelor’s quarters, as you call them, have 
that unhappy, furnished-room look about them.” 

They sat for a long time before the fire, chatting 
about many things which had been of interest to them 
in the days gone by. 


PASSING SNADOJVS, 


163 


CHAPTER XV. 

“To each his suff' rings ; all are meUy 
Condemn' d alike to groan — 

The tetider for another's pain^ 

Th' unfeeling for his own." 

G ABRIELLE had come home from work in time to 
have her dinner with her mother and Agnes. 
Mr. Harkins had given her a half holiday, as he was 
going out of the city and had nothing particular for her 
to do. 

When the dinner was over Agnes announced to Ga- 
brielle that she had promised to visit that afternoon 
several poor families. Gabrielle immediately declared 
her intention of accompanying her sister. 

Agnes led the way to a rear’ house at the lower end of 
the street in which they lived. When they had gone 
up two flights of stairs Agnes knocked on a door, and 
a small boy responded. On a cot in the kitchen a 
woman lay dying. She had been ill for a long time, 
and Agnes Crystal had been assiduous in her attentions 
to her, bringing food and clothes, and in many ways mak- 
ing the last days of the sick woman peaceful and happy. 

“ I am near the end now,” the dying woman gasped 
as the girls sat down beside her, ” and I am well satis- 
fied to go.” 


164 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ You will not suffer much longer, I think,” answered 
Agnes, leaning over and fixing the pillow under her 
head. 

“ I am ready to go as soon as God calls me,” the sick 
woman replied, her eyes turning toward the ceiling as 
she made an act of resignation to the will of God. 
” There is only one thing that worries me.” 

” What is that ?” Agnes asked anxiously. 

” It’s the boy,” she whispered, pointing to the young 
lad, who stood looking out of the window. ” He will 
have no one but an old aunt to watch over him after I 
am gone, and I am afraid that she will not be able to 
manage him.” 

Agnes hastened to comfort her, telling her not to 
worry. 

” I could die more gladly, Miss Ciystal, if I thought 
you would keep a watch over him, and see that he goes 
to Mass and keeps away from wicked companions. 
You are the only one that can influence him now. I 
know that from the way he talks about you.” 

‘‘ Well, if that is your only worry,” Agnes replied, 
” don’t let it bother you any more. I shall be delighted 
to do all I can for him.” 

” Thank God !” the woman exclaimed, as she knit 
her fingers together fervently; ” I am ready to die 
now.” 

The two girls remained a while longer with the suffer- 
ing woman, and then left her to go up a flight of stairs 
to see a sick child. 

When they were gone the dying woman called her 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


165 

son to her bedside, and resting her sick head upon her 
emaciated hand, said to him, slowly and solemnly, “ I 
am dying, Eddie.” 

The boy’s face grew whiter than the stained wall of 
the room. 

” No, you’re not, mother,” he protested ; ” you’ll be 
better to-morrow.” 

” Come nearer to me, and give me your hand,” she 
whispered, not seeming to be conscious of his interrup- 
tion. 

He sat on the side of the bed, and placed his hand in 
hers. 

” You are not going to die, mother,” he repeated. 
” Don’t you remember, you were bad like this once 
before, and you got better ?” 

” Yes ; but it’s all over with me this time. And be- 
fore I die I want to say one thing to you.” She paused 
for a few moments to gain strength, and then continued : 
” Never forget that young girl, Eddie ; she has helped 
to make your mother’s dying days happy.” 

The young lad now realized for the first time that he 
was to lose his mother. All the trouble he had given 
her, his wayward and careless actions, now came back 
to him, and bowing his head on his mother’s breast, he 
wept bitterly. 

” Say, mother,” he sobbed, ” I didn’t do right by 
you, and I’m sorry for it. I wish I could take it all 
back.” 

His mother tenderly brushed the hair from off his fore- 
head and answered : ” I forgive you, Eddie, for every- 


i66 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


thing you ever did that was wrong. You’ve been more 
foolish than roguish. Keep out of bad company when 
I’m dead and gone, go to Mass every Sunday, and 
promise me that if ever you get a chance to do a 
good turn for that young girl you’ll do it for my 
sake.” 

He put up his hand above his head as she finished 
speaking, and began solemnly, “ Mother, I hope I’ll 
never have a day’s luck — ” 

His mother raised her eyes, and seeing the out- 
stretched hand, caught at it frantically, exclaiming, 
“ Don’t swear, my child ; just say you’ll do it for my 
sake, and I’ll be satisfied.” 

The oath remained unsworn, and the boy made the 
promise as his mother directed. 

While this sad scene between mother and son was 
being enacted, a comedy was taking place on the floor 
above. Often comedy and tragedy are separated by 
but a flight of stairs in a tenement-house. 

Gabrielle and Agnes had not been long in the room 
where the sick child was lying, when there was a knock 
at the door, and on its being opened two women en- 
tered. One was rather elderly and dressed in black, 
something after the fashion of a nun; the other was a 
young lady, rather aristocratic than good-looking. 

In a bedroom off the kitchen lay the child whom 
Agnes Crystal had come to visit. She had been in 
Agnes’s class in Sunday-school, and Agnes visited her 
nearly every day. 

The elderly woman, after talking for a few moments 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


167 


to the suffering child, turned her attention to the two 
girls. 

“Are you true seekers of Christ?” she asked 
Agnes. 

Gabrielle was so amused by this question that she 
walked over to the window and looked out so as to hide 
a smile. She remembered that when Agnes was only 
ten years of age the old sexton used to have to come up 
to the altar after the evening devotions were over and 
almost tear her away. Gabrielle therefore found it 
amusing to hear Agnes asked if she were “ a true seeker 
of Christ.” 

While the elderly woman was catechising Agnes, the 
younger one began questioning Gabrielle. 

“ Do you live in this horrse ?” she asked, shaking a 
perfumed handkerchief. 

“ No,” Gabrielle answered ; “ not in this house, but 
1 live on this block.” 

“Do you? Well, then, you must know this neigh- 
borhood very well.” 

“ I ought to ; I was born in this street.” 

“ Were you ?” the young lady asked in surprise. 

Gabrielle bowed her head. 

“ I suppose there must be a goodish lot of misery in 
this vicinity ?’ ’ 

Gabrielle admitted that there was considerable. 

The young woman let her eyes travel about the poor 
little room and then out to the small, unswept yard 
and the fire-escapes of the front houses, laden with old 
clothes and rubbish. 


i68 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ No doubt these people bring upon themselves much 
of their misery and poverty,” 

As she remained looking out of the -window while she 
hazarded this opinion Gabrielle did not feel obliged to 
make any answer, and so kept her peace, quietly study- 
ing the elegant young woman, with whom she was not 
much pleased. 

‘‘ I understood you to say that you lived at present in 
this street.” 

Gabrielle acknowledged for the second time that she 
did. The young lady soothed her offended nostrils 
with a bottle of smelling salts which she carried con- 
cealed in her handkerchief. 

” Well, from the way you dress and your appear- 
ance,” she said, ” I don’t think that you are suffering 
from poverty.” 

Gabrielle almost boiled over at this point, but for 
Agnes’s sake she held her tongue. 

The young woman opened her pocketbook and began 
fumbling in it. 

” She is going to give us tickets for soup,” exclaimed 
Gabrielle, in horror, turning to Agnes. 

“Don’t mind her,” Agnes answered ; “she is very 
young.” 

The “ daughter of the rich” drew out of her pocket- 
book half a dozen railroad tickets, and handing them 
to Gabrielle, said : “ Two of these are for yourself and 
your sister. I wish you would give the others to girls 
with whom you are acquainted in this neighborhood. 
The tickets will bring you to my summer home, where 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


169 


I will have refieshments for all of you, and for some 
others whom I have invited. I am sure you will enjoy 
yourselves better than you ever did in your lives. I 
wish, too, that you would practise singing ‘ The Star- 
Spangled Banner’ and ‘ My Country, ’tis of Thee.’ I 
will present to every girl as a souvenir a beautiful card 
with ‘ My Country, ’tis of Thee ’ engraved on it. How- 
ever,” she added, as an afterthought, ” I wish you 
would give the tickets to nice, clean girls like yourself. 
I could not possibly receive some of the girls 1 have 
seen around here.” 

Gabrielle took the tickets, and as soon as she had 
them safely in her hand she moved toward the stove. 
She quietly lifted off one of the covers, and deliberately 
tearing up the tickets, dropped them into the fire. 

The donor of the tickets looked at her in amazement, 
unable to comprehend the action or find words to ex- 
press herself. 

Gabrielle, however, did not remain long silent. 
When she had drawn the cover over the fire again she 
turned about, and facing the young lady, exclaimed 
angrily, ‘‘ You may be poor before you die, just as we 
are. If so, I hope you will be made to feel, as you 
have made me feel, the bitterness of being poor.” 

The young lady listened, her eyes big with wonder. 
Finally she found her speech, and answered, ” I don’t 
see what right you have to get angry. I merely offered 
you an opportunity for a day’s enjoyment. If you 
don’t wish to accept my invitation, you are free to re- 
fuse it.” 


170 


PASSING SffADOlVS. 


“ Yes ; you did offer me the chance of a day’s enjoy- 
ment,” cried Gabrielle, ‘‘ and you did it in as patroniz- 
ing and humiliating a manner as was possible. Now, 
I would like you to remember, in case we ever meet 
again, that while we are poor, we are not paupers, and 
that you have no right to come down here and patron- 
ize us. Please don’t imagine that because people live 
in tenement-houses they are brutes, and necessarily 
devoid of all delicacy of feeling.” 

” I am sorry I did not offer the tickets to your sister 
instead of to you,” answered the charitably inclined 
young woman with as much dignity as she could as- 
sume. ” She is a great deal more ladylike.” 

The sentence ended in a sarcastic tone, which only 
served to inflame Gabrielle the more. 

” I know she is, and it’s precisely because of her that 
1 protest so strongly against your manner. My sister 
has done more hard work, lost more sleep, and risked 
her life more times in visiting people with contagious 
diseases than a dozen like you would in a lifetime. 
And when she goes to see sick people she does not carry 
a bottle of smelling-salts with her to remind them that 
there is a bad odor in their rooms.” 

The young woman who had come to distribute rail- 
road tickets did not relish this abuse, so, together with 
the older woman who accompanied her, she hurried to 
the door, stopping long enough to tell Gabrielle that 
she considered her a very impertinent and ill-bred girl. 

After the door was closed Agnes sank into a chair, 
exclaiming, ” Well, Gay, you are a cyclone ! Really, 


PASSWG SHADOIVS. 


171 

I thought you would scratch her face and pull her hair 
before you stopped.” 

Gabrielle took out her handkerchief, and wiping the 
perspiration from her forehead, answered, ” I couldn’t 
help it. I was full of the subject, and did not try to 
stem the torrent. I have no respect for chaiity which 
is prompted by vanity and curiosity.” 

After Agnes had administered to the wants of the 
sick child she and Gabrielle started to go. When they 
reached the last landing they found the young boy 
whose mother was dying waiting for them. His eyes 
were red with weeping and his face tear-stained. 

” I just wanted to tell you. Miss Crystal,” he said, 
“ that if ever I can do you a favor. I’m willing to do it, 
even if it costs me my life.” 

Agnes was very much touched by his words and his 
earnest manner. 

‘‘ Be a good boy to your mother while she lives,” she 
answered, placing her hand on his shoulder ; ” that is 
all I want.” 

” I will for sure,” he replied, his eyes filling up ; 
“ only I wish I had begun sooner.” 


172 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ Good-night, good-7iight ! parting is such sweet sorrow. 
That I shall say good-night till it be 7norrowN 

HE next week Mrs. Crystal and Gabrielle paid a 



visit to John Fulton in his new home. Ga- 
brielle’s sharp eyes saw many chances for improve- 
ment ; a picture here, a scarf there would give a bit 
of life and color to the room. 

“ Your cousins wouldn’t feel offended, Jack, if I made 
you a few ornaments, would they ?” Gabrielle asked 
when she had finished a careful survey of the room, and 
noted what, to her eyes, were its deficiencies. 

John Fulton looked at her with a mild protest in his 
eyes. 

“ My cousins are very affable people,” he replied. 

” Oh, I didn’t mean that ! I simply would not like 
to interfere with their plans. Perhaps they intend to 
make further changes in the room.” 

” I can assure you that their work of ornamentation 
is finished, and if you see any place where improvement 
can be made, you are at liberty to make it. However, 
I don’t wish you to waste your time and injure your 
eyes sewing at night for me.” 

Gabrielle’s only answer was a toss of the head. 

” If the sewing school would care to donate anything 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


173 


elaborate for the ornamentation of my apartment,” he 
said, ” I might be prevailed upon to accept it.” 

” The sewing school only works for the poor,” she 
answered. 

‘‘ But I belong to the poor.” 

” I know it, and you will be dependent on my 
charity.” 

” I accept,” he replied, bowing in mock humility. 
” I will put up a notice over my door, ‘ Sewing schools 
and cousins need not apply.’ ” 

The conversation went on in this strain, Mrs. Crystal 
in the meantime turning the leaves of a photograph 
album. Something in John Fulton’s tone of voice 
attracted her attention. She saw, to her great surprise, 
that he was talking to Gabrielle in a manner different 
from that in which he had ever before conversed with her. 

Mrs, Crystal kept turning the pages of the album, 
looking at the photographs without seeing them. When 
she had finished she began over again. By the time 
she was half way through the album she realized that 
John Fulton was in love with her daughter. This 
knowledge came to her with a shock. She was not yet 
ready to part with Gabrielle, and she did not enjoy the 
idea of anybody being in love with her. It is true, she 
was pleased that it was John Fulton and not another. 
She acknowledged to herself that he had all the quali- 
ties which a good mother could wish for in her daugh- 
ter’s husband. But at present only one thought pos- 
sessed her, and that was that she did not wish to lose 
Gabrielle. 


174 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


For this reason the visit ended more abruptly than it 
would have otherwise. Gabrielle had not said half 
enough when her mother announced that it was time to 
go home. 

A little later, when they were rumbling along in a 
horse-car, Gabrielle pictured in sombre colors John 
Fulton's lonesome life. 

“ I know he feels terrible, sitting night after night 
alone in his room,” she said, with great pity in her 
voice. ” He misses us very much.” 

” Hasn’t he his cousins living near him ?” her mother 
asked coldly. 

” Yes ; but they don’t come to see him often, and be- 
sides 1 think he is more at home with us than with 
them.” 

” I cannot see how that is ; we are only friends, and 
they are his relatives.” 

“I know,” Gabrielle answered; ‘‘but sometimes 
friends can be dearer even than one’s own relations.” 

” Did he ever tell you that you weie dearer to him 
than his relations ?” her mother inquired, turning 
directly toward her. 

” Oh, no !” exclaimed Gabrielle, blushing violently. 
"I didn’t mean that; I simply meant — well, I was 
speaking in general.” 

‘‘Yes; I understand,” Mrs. Crystal answered, look- 
ing straight ahead through the window opposite. 

The car bounded along, and for several moments 
nothing further was said. They were rapidly getting 
nearer home, and Gabrielle was anxious to renew the 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


175 


conversation which her mother had ended so abruptly. 
The conductor called out the name of the street, and 
Gabrielle saw that they were very near home. There 
was no time to be lost, so she began again. 

“ If Jack thought we would be glad to have him call 
frequently, I am sure he would avail himself of the 
privilege and be grateful for it.” 

” He knows he is always welcome at our house,” her 
mother answered her, with very little interest. 

” Yes ; but if you were to give him a special invita- 
tion and urge him to come, I know he would like it.” 

” Perhaps if we were to insist on his coming often 
to see us he might come through courtesy, and at the 
same time be bored to death at every visit.” 

” Oh, no ; he wouldn’t be bored,” Gabrielle ex- 
claimed, a little smile playing about her mouth. 

” Why,” asked her mother, looking at her, “is he 
so fond of your company as to make that impossible ?” 

The- smile vanished instantly, as the car came to a 
sudden stop, jolting the passengers. 

When Gabrielle recovered her composure she replied : 
” No ; 1 am not so vain as to think that. But I am sure 
Jack enjoys an evening with papa about as much as he 
does with anybody.” 

” Then you ought to prevail on your father to invite 
him. You know that I am only too willing to have 
Jack call as often as he likes, but I wouldn’t for the 
world make it a burden to him.” 

“No, neither would I,” Gabrielle answered; “but 
I feel that it would not be a burden.” 


176 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


“ Yes ; but feelings often lead people astray.” 

“ I know ; but I have more than my feelings to direct 
me. I judge so from what he said.” 

” What did he say ?” 

” Rivington Street !” cried the conductor, ringing 
the bell and bringing the car to a stop. 

Mrs. Crystal and her daughter hurried out of the car, 
and made their way to the sidewalk. 

Gabrielle did not answer her mother’s question, but 
said, ” I’ll tell papa how lonesome Jack is, and get him 
to invite Jack down to see us often.” 

” Yes ; you could try the experiment, at any rate,” 
her mother replied. ” Your father might invite Jack 
for next Thursday evening. I want you and Agnes to 
go across town with me that night.” 

Gabrielle took a deep breath of the cold air. ” What 
could make her mother so contrary ?’” she asked herself. 

The light in the street was dim, and Mrs. Crystal 
could smile in safety at her daughter’s discomfiture. 

Gabrielle walked along quietly thinking. She had 
nothing more to say. No matter which way she turned 
she found herself in a cul de sac. 

” Perhaps,” she thought, ” I may be able to do some- 
thing with my father.” 

And so mother and daughter readied the doorstep in 
silence. 

” I am a much wiser woman to-night than I was this time 
last night,” said Mrs. Crystal the following evening, in- 
terrupting her husband as he was reading the newspaper. 


PASSING SHADOWS 


177 


The two girls had gone out, and the mother and 
father were free for an hour’s conversation. 

Mr. Crystal looked up from his paper and over his 
glasses at his wife for an explanation. 

“ I have discovered that Jack Fulton is in love.” 

“No!” he exclaimed; ” you don’t tell me.” 

” Yes ; it’s a fact.” 

” And who is the happy young woman ?” he asked, 
growing more interested. 

” Could you guess ?” 

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceil- 
ing for a few moments. Then he mentioned the names 
of several young women. 

His wife shook her head. 

” Do I know her ?” he asked. 

” Very well,” she answered. 

He thought for a little while again and made some 
random guesses, and then gave up trying. 

“Jack Fulton is in love with your daughter,” she 
replied slowly and dramatically. 

“ What !” he exclaimed, half jumping from his chair. 

“ He is in love with your daughter,” she repeated. 

“With Agnes?” 

“ Agnes is going to enter the convent.” 

“ With Gay ?” 

“ You’ve guessed it at last.” 

“ Where did you get the information from ?” was his 
next question. 

“ From my own eyes and ears.” 

“ Did Jack tell you ?” 


178 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ No ; I found it out last evening by watching him 
when he was talking to Gay.” 

” What did he say to her ?” 

” Nothing in particular, but enough to make me see 
that he is in love with her.” 

Mr. Crystal gradually recovered from his surprise, 
and after hearing all that his wife had to say on the 
subject, concluded that her judgment was too hasty, 
and therefore not well founded. 

” I cannot imagine Jack falling in love with Gay,” he 
said, after a pause, 

” Why, isn’t your daughter good enough for him ?” 

” Yes,” he replied, with emphasis ; ” she is good 
enough for the best man living ; but I always expected 
Jack to marry some older and more serious girl.” 

” Jack is not so very old,” she objected. 

‘‘ No ; but he is six or seven years older than Gay.” 

” You were eight years older than I was when we 
were married.” 

He took off his glasses, and leaning back in his 
chair, laughed quietly. After a little he said, ” Well, 
if they are in love, I suppose there is no help for it, 
and that one day they will marry. We would have 
to travel far and wide to find a better son-in-law than 
Jack Fulton.” 

” But what are we going to do if they marry ?” 

” Give them our blessing, I suppose.” 

And what is to become of us ?” she asked. 

” We will live on to a ripe old age, I hope,” he an- 
swered, smiling. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


179 


His wife’s face suddenly became very grave. 

Doesn’t it worry you to think of how lonesome we 
shall be with one daughter in the convent and the other 
married and living away from us ?” 

A serious look came into his eyes. “ I did not think 
of that/’ was all he could say. 

“ Perhaps I had better speak to Gay.” 

” If you think well of it,” he answered. Then he 
added, ” It might be wiser to wait a little longer and 
find out if Jack is really in love with her.” 

” It’s strange how little faith you have in my judg- 
ment !” she exclaimed impatiently. 

” I did not mean to question your judgment, but is it 
not possible that you are mistaken in this matter ?” 

” No !” she answered, with decision ; ” I am abso- 
lutely certain that Jack is, or at least will be before a 
month, deeply in love with Gay.” 

” Then wouldn’t it be well to wait another month 
before taking any action ?” 

She shook her head hopelessly. “All right, I will 
wait ; but when you are sitting here alone, night after 
night, and both your children are separated from you, 
perhaps then you will be sorry I did not act more 
quickly.” 

Her voice dropped to a sad key and her eyes were 
full of tears. The picture she drew did not add to her 
husband’s happiness either. To lose his two children, 
and both, perhaps, in a short time, was a saddening 
prospect. He and his wife had become reconciled to 
the idea of parting with Agnes. They were religious 


1 8 o FA SSING SHADO IV S. 

people, and though a fond father and mother, they re- 
garded as a great blessing their daughter’s call to so 
high a state of life, and were accordingly satisfied. But 
they were hardly ready to give up Gabrielle. They sat 
in silence for several moments. Then a thought came 
into Mr. Crystal’s mind that dissipated the gloom which 
had fallen over him. 

“ If Jack and Gay do fall in love and get married, 
why couldn’t they live with us ?” 

“ Perhaps they could,” she replied ; ” but an ounce 
of prevention is better than a pound of cure. ’’ 

‘‘ But if we are unable to prevent it, would it not be 
better to accept the situation and stipulate with Jack 
that he live with us ? I am sure he would make no 
objection.” 

” He might agree to the proposal, but how long 
would it last ?” 

” Always,” her husband answered confidently. 

” You forget that after the marriage I would be Jack’s 
mother-in-law,’ ’ 

” Well, what of that?” 

” Isn’t it proverbial that no man can get along with 
his mother-in-law ?” 

” With some mothers-in-law, yes,” he replied ; ” but 
with you — ” he stopped and looked at her, a smile 
in his eyes. Just then the two girls were heard com- 
ing up the stairs. ” Do whatever you think best,” he 
hastened to add. 

” I will wait awhile,” she answered. 


PASSING SI/ADO PVS. 


i8i 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ With a little hoard of maxvns preaching down a daughter' s 
heart." 

O N a bleak afternoon, in the first week in January, 
Gabrielle sat in her office busy typewriting. 
Agnes was standing at the window, alternately talking 
to her sister or looking out at the park below. 

The scene was a dreary one. The leafless trees, with 
the cold wind cutting through them, the withered giass, 
the dry fountain full of rubbish, the mounds of piled-up 
snow at regular intervals decorating the grass-plots, the 
deserted pavilion used by one of the city’s free bands 
in the summer, and a half dozen cab-drivers walking 
up and down to warm themselves, make not a cheerful 
pi'ospect. It was one of those wretched days which are 
best ended by drawing the curtains as early as possible 
and lighting the gas. 

The attention of Agnes, as she looked out of the win- 
dow, was attracted by a man and a young woman com- 
ing across the park. As the young woman drew nearer 
she proved to be Clara Harkins. 

Finding her father busy talking to several men as she 
came into his office, Clara nodded to him and made her 
way to Gabrielle’s sanctum, leaving Mr. Parker to join 
her father. She gave a little cry of delight at seeing 


i 82 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Agnes, exclaiming, “ I’m so glad to see you. I did not 
expect to find you here.” 

” The day was so blue,” Agnes replied, that I 
thought Gay would enjoy company, so as soon as 
mother lay down for her afternoon nod I came 
away.” 

” I have been to the theatre,” Clara said, as she sat 
down. 

” Is that so ?” Gabrielle asked, immediately inter- 
ested. ” What did you see ?” 

‘‘ The ‘ Twelfth Night,’ at Daly’s.” 

” Oh, that must have been lovely ! I read in one of 
the papers that the stage setting was like a dream.” 

” It was very good,” Clara answered wearily ; ” but 
I am afraid that I did not enjoy it. I don’t think that 
Mr. Parker spent a very pleasant afternoon either. He 
is fond of plays, and I believe that I offended him by 
not sharing his enthusiasm.” 

” If you don’t mind my telling you,” Gabrielle said, 
” I know that Mr. Parker is quite fond ot you." 

A quick flush came into Clara’s cheeks. She had 
reason to believe that what Gabrielle said was only too 
true. It was hard enough to be thwarted in her desire 
to enter a convent, but to find a man for whom her 
father had such unbounded respect growing fond of 
her was certainly disheartening. 

” On what do you base your supposition ?’ ’ she asked, 
after a moment’s reflection. 

” I accidentally overheard snatches of a conversation 
between Mr. Parker and your father,” Gabrielle an- 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


183 

swered, with some hesitation, as she looked at Clara’s 
burning cheeks. 

“ What did Mr. Parker say ?” 

“ Are you sure you would care to hear ?” 

“ Very ; I want to be prepared for the worst.” 

Gabrielle thought for a moment, and then replied : 
” Well, among other things, Mr. Parker declared that 
he believed you were the kind of a young woman that 
would make a man happy. Your father answered that 
he was glad to hear him say so. Mr. Parker paid you 
several other compliments, and ended by telling your 
father that he was considering seriously of taking you 
for his wife.” 

” What !” cried Clara, in dismay ; ‘‘he surely didn’t 
say that ?” The tone of her voice was half angry and 
half pleading for Gabrielle to deny what she had just said. 

Gabrielle, seeing the effect of her words, was sorry 
she had spoken, and not being able to retract what she 
had said, held her peace. Gradually the color came 
back to Clara’s face, and she grew calmer. 

‘‘ I thought it would be better to tell you what I 
heard,” Gabrielle finally said, ‘‘so that you might be 
prepared. I am very sorry if I have done wrong in 
telling you.” 

‘‘ I would not consider you friendly if you had not 
told me. I could not control my feelings at your news, 
but I assure you. Gay, I am very grateful to you for 
telling me what you heard.” 

Agnes sat a quiet spectator, her eyes full of pity as 
she looked at the suffering girl. 


184 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ Mr. Parker must feel perfectly confident of my ac- 
ceptance from the way he spoke to my father,” Clara 
said, after a moment. 

‘‘ I could not help but admire his assurance,” rejoined 
Gabrielle, ‘‘ when he said that he was thinking seriously 
of making you his wife.” 

” 1 am not so surprised at that. It is, I believe, from 
what I have seen of him, quite typical of his char- 
acter.” 

” I think he has considerable presumption,” Ga- 
brielle declared. ” Why, he is a widower, and he's 
forty five if he is a day ; besides, he’s already very 
bald.” 

These considerations counted very much with Ga- 
brielle. 

‘‘ I would not care for him if he were twenty-five and 
had all his hair,” Clara answered. 

” I wonder what Mr. Parker thinks a girl is !” ex- 
claimed Gabrielle. 

” I don’t care so much what Mr. Parker thinks. It’s 
my father’s opinion that troubles me. He is very 
fond of money, and Mr. Parker is a wealthy man.” 

” I can understand your father’s desire to keep you 
out of the convent, as you are his only daughter,” Ga- 
brielle said ; ” but I think he might leave to you the 
choice of a husband for yourself.” 

Clara made no reply, throwing her head back on the 
soft leather of the chair, and looking up at a bunch of 
flowers frescoed on the ceiling above. 

Agnes, who had remained silent all the time that 


PASSING SNA no IV S. 


185 

Gabrielle and Clara were talking, now joined in the 
conversation. 

“ I believe it’s a truth, that when one is furthest away 
from a thing then one is nearest to it.” 

” Do you mean that with Mr. Parker my cup of 
misery becomes full, and that things will take a turn ?” 
Clara asked, looking toward Agnes. 

” Precisely,” Agnes answered. 

” I hope so,” Clara said doubtfully. Her courage 
came back a little, and she continued, ” Perhaps when 
I refuse Mr. Parker — that is, if he ever gives me the 
chance — my father will then think that I am not sound 
in my mind, and will readily consent to my becoming 
a nun. He believes that a convent is a refuge for 
eccentric women.” 

” If the worst should happen, Miss Harkins,” Ga- 
brielle proposed, sarcastically, ” and your father should 
entreat you to marry Mr. Parker, why not offer to com- 
promise and marry Mr. Parker’s son, if there is such an 
individual in existence.” 

Clara smiled a little at the proposal, replying that 
Mr. Parker had no son. 

The clock in Mr. Harkins’s office slowly struck five, 
and the men who had been talking to him rose to go. 
Mr. Parker had left shortly before. 

Gabrielle put her typewriting machine aside and 
closed the cover of her roll-top desk. 

” There is one consolation. Miss Harkins,” she said, 
as she reached for her hat ; ” if you should marry Mr. 
Parker, it will be a greater act of mortification and re- 


i86 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


nunciation for you than even entering a convent. Thus 
you will get a higher place in heaven by taking an in- 
direct route.” 

” Let us hope and pray,” interrupted Agnes, ” that 
Miss Harkins will be able to reach heaven by the direct 
way.” 

” By all means,” Clara agreed. ” I am not the stuff 
of which martyrs are made.” 

Mr. Harkins came to the door to call his daughter. 
Gabrielle and Agnes bade her good-evening and went 
downstairs and across the park on their way home. 

A few moments later Mr. Harkins and his daughter 
entered a carriage which was waiting for them at the 
door and started uptown. Mr. Harkins was not a very 
tall man, but he carried himself erect, with a military 
bearing, which made up somewhat for his want of 
height. He was nearly sixty years of age, but as he 
dyed his mustache he looked considerably younger. 
He was what is called ” a dapper-looking man.” He 
had a smart business air about him, a quick step, and a 
ruddy complexion. He looked a little apoplectic, but 
that only served to make him seem to have more 
vitality. 

When he had settled himself comfortably in the soft 
cushions of the carriage he took from his pocket the 
evening paper, and hurriedly ran his eye over the head- 
ings, dwelling a few moments on Wall Street news. 
After that he laid the paper on his knee, and turning 
toward his daughter, said, ” Mr. Parker told me that 
you were both at Daly’s this afternoon.” 


PASSING SNADOJVS. 


187 


“ Yes ; Mr. Parker came to the house this morning 
and asked mamma to let me go.” 

” What did you see ?” 

‘“The Twelfth Night.’ ’ 

He hesitated for a moment and then asked, ” Isn’t 
that one of Shakespeare’s plays ?” 

” Yes ; one of his comedies.” 

” You enjoyed it, I hope ?” 

” It was very prettily staged ana well acted,” she 
answered. 

The carriage rolled along, and for several moments 
father and daughter held their peace, looking out at 
the crowds. 

Clara of late was not anxious to engage her father in 
conversation, as he generally said something disagree- 
able. Relations between them were a little strained. 

After a silence, which was just long enough to begin 
to be painful, Mr. Harkins commenced again. 

” It wouldn’t be a bad idea, Clara, if you would go 
to the theatre oftener. You stay at home and mope too 
much. That’s not good for a young giil. You will 
become an old maid if you are not careful.” 

The idea of never getting married did not seem to 
have any terrors for the girl, for she smiled as she said, 
” There are some very nice old maids ; Aunt Jane, for 
instance.” 

” That’s all right about Aunt Jane. But we don’t 
want any Aunt Claras or Sister Claras either.” 

She closed her eyes as he ended the sentence, as if to 
shut out his words from her mind. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


1 88 

He faced toward her a little more, and she could see 
from his manner that he was getting ready to say some- 
thing which she knew would be disagreeable for her to 
hear. 

“ I want to settle this matter once for all, Clara. It 
has been hanging fire for nearly two years, and during 
that time it has given considerable worry both to your 
mother and myself. Now you have got to put this 
foolishness about entering a convent out of your head 
forever.” 

She could feel her heart beating rapidly and her 
hands trembling. She finally managed to muster up 
her courage and answer quietly, but firmly, ” I am 
afraid 1 can never do that.” 

“You can and you must,” he cried, picking up the 
paper and striking it angrily against his knee. ” A 
convent was never intended for such as you. It’s a place 
for women who have never had a chance to marry or 
for those whose lives have been blighted by some great 
trouble. A convent is no place for a young girl to go 
and bury herself.” 

” Your notion of a convent, father,” she answered, 
” is, I think, a very unjust one. The majority of those 
who enter are young girls, and they are not buried 
there. They are very much alive.” 

This reply seemed to nettle Mr. Harkins. He had his 
own notions of what a convent was, or rather he had 
manufactured his notions of a convent to suit himself as 
soon as he had discovered his daughter’s tendency. 

” If any young girls do enter convents,” he rejoined, 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


189 


“ it is a great mistake. They would do much better to 
remain in the world, and they would be far happier.” 

‘‘ I have known some very unhappy and broken- 
hearted people in the world, but I never remember 
seeing any of the nuns in the convent unhappy.” 

” But you don’t know anything at all about their 
happiness or unhappiness,” he answered angrily. 
” You have only seen the convent with the eyes of a 
school-girl. You know absolutely nothing of the misery 
its four walls contain.” 

Clara played impatiently with the tassel of the win- 
dow-shade, not knowing at first what to say to this ex- 
travagant statement. As her father did not follow up 
his words it gave her a moment to frame her answer. 

” I have heard such statements made before about 
the misery of nuns in convents, and I must say that I 
don’t believe there is a particle of truth in them. 
If the nuns I know in the convent were in constant 
misery, then they concealed it splendidly. I thought 
they were about the happiest mortals I had ever met.” 

Mr. Harkins, finding that his arguments were of no 
avail, grew more angry. 

” What you think, Clara, has nothing to do with facts. 
I am certain that if you did go to the convent you 
would be home in a month’s time.” Mr. Harkins’s 
anger impaired his better judgment. His daughter 
was not slow to make good use of his words. 

” Suppose, then, you give me your permission to try 
the experiment of convent life for a month V’ 

He realized that he had fallen into a trap, and simply 


PASSING SHADOW S~ 


190 

answered with great vehemence, “ No ; I don’t want 
any experiments.” 

They were now within a few paces of their home, and 
Mr. Harkins hastened to deliver his ultimatum. 

” You may as well understand now, Clara, that never 
with my consent will you enter a convent. I have put 
up with this foolishness of yours for a long time with 
great patience. I have remembered that you were my 
only daughter, and I did not want to give you any un- 
necessary pain. I see now that I should have acted more 
promptly and ended the matter sooner. I hope you 
appreciate my forbearance. But now I am determined 
that you shall obey me.” .He paused for a moment, 
and then continued, ” As long as I am living to prevent 
it, you shall not become a nun.” 

He was so distracted when he had finished this dec- 
laration, that he opened the carriage door as the horses 
came to a stop, and jumping out hurried up the steps, 
leaving his daughter to follow him. 

The coachman, noticing this, dropped from his seat 
and assisted Clara out of the carriage. 

His eyes followed her in wonder as she slowly as- 
cended the steps. 

When he had returned to his seat he said to himself, 
” I wonder why she is crying ?” 


PASSING SI/ADO PVS. 


191 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Get place and wealthy if possible with grace ; 

If 7iot, by any means get wealth and place." 

“ T CANNOT imagine what is going to become of 
that girl/’ Mrs. Harkins said to her husband, as 
they were sitting alone in the dining-room that evening, 
just after their children had left. “ She is losing flesh 
every day. She does not eat enough to keep the life in 
a bird.” 

” It’s that foolish convent business that is the cause 
of her losing flesh,” Mr. Harkins answered, throwing 
down his napkin impatiently on the table. 

” The doctor was passing by to-day,” his wife con- 
tinued, ” and dropped in. I called Clara to the parlor 
to see him, and afterward I asked him what he thought of 
her. He said that she was failing slowly but surely, and 
that as it was mental trouble he could do nothing for her. 
There would be no cure, in his opinion, until the cause 
in some way was removed.” 

” The cause will be removed !” Mr. Harkins declared 
emphatically, striking the table to accentuate his words. 
” I gave her to understand very plainly this evening 
that she will never get my consent to become a nun, 
and that, moreover, she must abandon the notion alto- 
gether,” 


192 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Mrs. Harkins half filled her cup with tea. “ I wish 
very much that she would give up the idea, but I am 
afraid she will not. She has inherited her father’s will 
and determination.” 

” She will have to inherit his ideas also,” he an- 
swered. 

” What reply did she make when you told her your 
decision ?” 

” We arrived at the door just as I had finished speak- 
ing, and I .did not wait to heat her answer. No answer is 
necessary. She is my daughter, and she must obey me. ” 

” What would you think of letting her try the con- 
vent for a short time ? She might tire of the whole 
thing, and then there would be an end of it.” 

” I don’t believe in experiments,” he answered some- 
what testily. 

Mrs. Harkins took a sip of strong tea. ” Neither do 
I, ordinarily,” she said ; ” but something must be done 
or the girl will waste away to nothing.” 

” It’s her own fault if she does.” 

” But you don’t want to see her dying slowly before 
your eyes, do you ?” 

” No ; I want to see her obey me.” 

Mrs. Harkins put down her cup and sat back in her 
chair. 

‘‘ It is a pity Clara won’t be like other girls. I am 
sure that if she would give young men the least encour- 
agement, she could have her choice of half a dozen of 
the very best of them. She is tall and good-looking, 
and has very winning manners.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


193 


“ And to think of throwing herself away by entering 
a convent!” Mr. Harkins added in disgust. “I am 
sorry I ever sent her there for her education.” 

” Perhaps it was a mistake, but the convent made her 
what she is.” 

” She would have done as well at any other school,” 
he answered impatiently. 

” I don’t think so,” his wife said quietly. 

” Why not ?” 

” Well, the convent wrought a great change in her 
character. After the first year I could notice that she 
was more gentle, kindly, reserved, and unaffected. 
And these are the qualities which have endeared her so 
much to those who know her. There is a kind of for- 
getfulness of self about her which many people have 
remarked. She absorbed those ideas while going to 
school at the convent.” 

” If she had only learned the virtue of obedience there, 
it would have been better for her,” he answered in a man- 
ner which plainly showed that he was impatient of hear- 
ing anything said in favor of convent training. 

He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. Then he 
got up from his chair. 

” I have made known my final decision to Clara,” he 
said, ” and I think it would be well if you also would 
speak as strongly as you can to her.” 

” I will do so,” she replied, rising and following him. 

When he reached the door he stood for a moment and 
said, ” I have every reason to believe that Mr. Parker 
wishes to make Clara his wife.” 


194 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ What !” cried Mrs. Harkins, her eyes growing large 
with wonder, and visions of a summer house at New- 
port and sundry like things floating before her. 

“ It is certain that he is in love with her,” her hus- 
band continued. ” In fact, he told me so.” 

” Good !” she exclaimed. ” Clara as Mr. Parker’s 
wife could live like a queen.” 

Mr. Harkins was pleased with his wife’s enthusiasm. 
He felt that Clara could not hold out against both of 
them. 

” You need not mention Mr. Parker’s intentions yet 
a while,” he cautioned ; ” just tell her that we are both 
a unit on the convent business.” 

” I certainly shall use every argument I can think of 
to persuade her to give it up,” she declared with great 
emphasis. ” It is a chance in a thousand, and must not 
be lost.” • 

The following morning, after Mr. Harkins had fin- 
ished his breakfast and gone to business, Mrs. Harkins 
went up to her daughter’s room. She opened the door 
quietly and walked in. 

Clara was kneeling at her bedside, saying her morning 
prayers, and so deeply absorbed was she that she did 
not hear her mother open the door and enter. 

Mrs. Harkins came over to the kneeling girl and said 
softly, ” Clara."’ 

The girl gave a nervous start, and then seeing 
her mother standing beside her, rose from her 
knees. 

” Don’t you think, dear, that you have been praying 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


195 


long enough, and that you ought to come downstairs 
and have a cup of coffee ?” 

“ Has papa gone yet ?” she asked. 

“ More than half an hour ago,” her mother assured 
her. 

They went down to the dining-room together, and 
Clara drank a cup of coffee and buttered a small piece 
of bread, which she did not eat. 

Mrs. Harkins watched her daughter anxiously and 
urged her to eat, but the girl pleaded a sick headache, 
and said she had no desire for food. 

‘‘ You had better come into my room,” her mother 
proposed when Clara had finished her coffee. ” The 
house is a little damp, and there is a fire there.” 

Clara followed her mother into a room where a fire 
was burning cheerfully. 

It was a dismal day outside. Snow the night previ- 
ous had turned into a heavy rain, and the dreary street 
was quiet and deserted. When they were both seated 
before the fire Mrs. Harkins, following her husband’s 
advice and cheered on to renewed efforts by visions of 
castles in Spain which five million dollars would buy, 
began the conversation. 

” Your father told me that he spoke to you last even- 
ing about your persistence in wishing to give up the 
world and go into a convent.” 

” Yes, he did,” Clara replied ; ” and he made me feel 
very unhappy by the way he talked to me.” 

‘‘I am afraid, Clara, that you make him feel very 
unhappy.” 


196 


PASSING SNA DO IV S, 


“ It’s unfortunate, then, if I do ; I surely do not wish 
to do so.’’ 

“ But it is in your power to avoid giving him dis- 
pleasure.” 

” How ?” Clara asked. 

” By obeying his wishes,” her mother answered. 

‘‘ And give up my desire to become a nun ?” 

Yes ; for your father’s and mother’s sake.” 

The girl shook her head. 

” I can’t do it.” 

” You could if you tried.” 

” No,” she answered with a sigh ; ” it is not a thing 
that can be done by trying. You know and papa knows 
that there is nothing else I would not gladly do to 
please you both. But in asking me to give up the con- 
vent, you ask me to act directly against the one great, 
strong desire of my life.” 

‘‘ But we are requesting you to do something which 
is for your own good,” her mother said. 

” How can it be a benefit when I hate it ?” 

” That is strong language, my child.” 

” It is only the faint expression of a stronger feeling,” 
Clara answered. 

She sat staring at the golden-red fire burning brightly, 
and waited for her mother to continue. 

Mrs. Harkins, finding that she was making no im- 
pression, changed her tactics and became milder and 
more coaxing. 

“It is such a pity, Clara,” she said, drawing nearer 
to her, ” that you ever let this idea of becoming a nun 


PASSING SNADOfVS. 


197 


take possession of you. It has destroyed the peace of 
the family. You cannot imagine how much your father 
has worried over it, and as for me, I have tossed on my 
bed night after night thinking about you. ’ 

There was a look of great pain in her daughter’s face 
as Mrs. Harkins finished speaking, and she felt that at 
last she had made an impression. 

“ And am I to be blamed for all this ?” Clara asked. 

“ I do not tell it to you, child, to chide you ; I merely 
say that it is a pity that it is so.” ^ 

Clara leaned her head upon her hand and answered 
as if in a reverie, “ I suppose I am the cause of suffer- 
ing to you and papa, but I don’t see how I can avoid 
it.” 

She seemed to be arguing the case with herself, and 
her mother listened to her and watched her with in- 
creasing excitement. 

” I don’t see how I can do otherwise. I firmly be- 
lieve that God has called me to a religious life, and that 
I ought to obey Him.” 

This sentiment did not please Mrs. Harkins, and she 
interrupted the girl, bringing her back again to a sense 
of actual things. 

” I admire you greatly, Clara, for your goodness and 
your conscientiousness, but at the same time I think it 
is rather hard that we have to give up our only daugh- 
ter.” 

This pleading, pained tone which her mother had 
adopted was the one which Clara found hardest to 
combat. 


198 


PASSIN'G SHADOWS. 


“ You speak of my entering a convent as if I were 
going to my grave. If I did become a nun you could 
see me occasionally. It is not as if I intended to enter 
a cloistered order.” 

” But seeing you from time to time is not like having 
you.” 

” Yes ; but if I remained in the world and married 
you would have to part with me,” 

” It would be a- very different parting,” her mother 
argued. / 

, ” I might, too, if I remained in the world make a 

miserable marriage,” 

” You might not,” Mrs. Harkins answered, smil- 
ing. 

” I am sure to be happy in the convent. Wouldn’t 
you like to see me happy for life ?” 

” Certainly ; and that is why I wish you to remain in 
the world and get married.” 

” Don’t you think that if I remained in the world and 
married, feeling that God had given me a vocation to 
the religious life, that my conscience would always 
bother me and make me miserable ?” 

” I believe that you would forget all about what you 
call your religious vocation and wonder at yourself for 
ever having taken it seriously.” 

Mrs. Harkins realized for the second time that her 
words were having no effect upon her daughter, and she 
was most anxious, after what her husband had told her 
about Mr. Parker’s growing fondness for Clara, to ex- 
tract from the girl a promise to give up all thought of a 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


199 


religious life. She drew herself together for a final 
effort. 

“ I have tried to make you understand, my dear child, 
how bad your father and I have felt because of your 
persistency, and I have used different arguments to 
show you how wrong you are in following so blindly 
this strange feeling which you call vocation. Now,’' 
she continued, rising from her chair, and coming over 
to her, “ your mother is going to beg of you to grant 
her the one great wish of her life.” She put her two 
arms about her daughter’s neck, and leaning over kissed 
her forehead. ” I want you to promise me that you 
will never enter a convent without my consent.” 

Clara was pale and silent. 

‘‘ Promise me that, I beg of you,” again pleaded her 
mother. 

Clara rose from her chair and slipped her mother’s 
arms off her neck. She felt icy cold and was visibly 
trembling. 

” What you ask, mother,” she said, ” is impossible. 
I cannot promise it.” Then she walked across the floor 
to the door and left the room. Outside the door she 
put her hands to her head and cried, ” This will drive 
me insane.” 

Her mother looked out on the dreary street, but she 
saw no castles in the air. 


200 


FASSING SHADOWS, 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ I give thee all — I can no morey 
Though poor the offering be ; 

My heart and lute are all the store 
That I can brmg to thee. ’ ’ 

H orace BRYCE and Gabrlelle Crystal met only 
once after the scene in the cemetery. He wrote 
her, making an engagement, and she steeled herself 
against the meeting. She told him that she much re- 
gretted that he had argued from her manner toward 
him that she cared for him other than in a friendly way. 
She said such a thing as loving him was out of the ques- 
tion. He answered that that was sufficient, and left her. 

Gabrielle breathed more freely after the interview 
was over. She could not accuse herself of having done 
any intentional wrong, but she could not but feel sad 
that she was even the indirect cause of pain to Hor- 
ace Bryce, from whom she had received many kind- 
nesses. 

The love between Gabrielle and John Fulton strength- 
ened with the lengthening days. Mrs. Crystal adopted 
the plan of waiting a little longer before speaking to 
her daughter. 

Mr. Crystal felt that if Gabrielle was to marry she 
could not get a better husband. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


201 


John Fulton called frequently to see the Crystals, and 
each time his love for Gabrielle increased, as did his dis- 
gust for chess. But every rose has its thorn, and most 
young women have fathers or mothers or aunts who 
have to be humored. Two hours out of every three 
which he spent in Eldridge Street were devoted to chess- 
playing. He accepted the situation for the simple 
reason that he could do nothing else. This is always a 
simple reason, but it is entirely sufficient. 

The March winds had begun to blow over the earth 
when John Fulton came one evening to the door of the 
house in which his friends lived. 

As he laid his hand upon the bell, he suddenly took 
a resolution. He would, if possible, tell Gabrielle that 
very night that he loved her. When he entered the 
house he found, to his glad surprise, that Mr. Crystal 
was out on business, and would not be home until a 
very late hour. The young man breathed more freely. 
For one evening there would be no game of chess. 

He found Gabrielle unusually vivacious and bubbling 
over with happiness. She played and sang, talked and 
laughed until overcome by sheer exhaustion. It was 
her birthday ; she was just twenty years of age, and 
she gave that as an excuse for her merriment. Near 
the end of a very pleasant evening Mrs. Crystal and 
Agnes left the room to prepare a little lunch in honor 
of Gabrielle’s birthday. 

John Fulton drew up two chairs near the fire and 
bade Gabrielle take one of them and rest herself. A 
slight flush came into his cheeks as he sat down beside 


202 


PASSING SHADOtVS. 


her. They chatted for a time in a joking way on her 
advancing age. Then they fell to talking of “ old, un- 
happy, far-off things.” ” You told me once, you re- 
member, Gay,” he said, ” that you* loved me better 
than anybody else in the woild, except your papa, 
mamma, and Agnes.” It was his way of leading up to 
the final declaration. 

” Well, haven’t I been faithful to that sentiment ever 
since ?” she replied, laughing. 

” She doesn’t understand me,” he murmured to him- 
self. ” I mean ‘ love,’ she means ‘ friendship.’ ” 

He knew that Mrs. Crystal or Agnes would probably 
soon return to the room, and he began to grow ner- 
vous. He became afraid now that Gabrielle did not 
love him — that she had never even thought of such a 
thing. But he was anxious to tell her how much he 
loved her, so that at least she would know how he felt 
toward her before another could come along and carry 
her away. Between his feverish desire to declare his 
love and the fear that some one would enter the room, 
he became rapidly more nervous, and Gabrielle, noticing 
this, looked at him in surprise. He commenced once 
more in a roundabout way to lead up to the statement 
which he wished to make, but just as he was about to 
declare his love Agnes entered the room, and he sat back 
in his chair again. 

Fortunately she remained but a moment. As soon as 
she was gone he began again. “For several weeks, 
Gay, I have been wanting to say something to you, and 
1 think I had better say it to-night.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


203 

It was strange how great a change love had made in 
him. A few months back Gabrielle was a “ good little 
girl.” Now he sat before her in fear and trepidation, 
with scarcely a hope that she would understand his love 
for her. \ 

She looked up as he spoke, but when she saw his 
serious, white face she dropped her eyes again. 

” What I am going to say will be very unexpected 
and a matter of great surprise to you. But I want to 
say it, and for old time’s sake I ask one thing, and that 
is, that you will not be offended or angry with me.” 
He leaned over and rested his hand on her chair, and 
as he did so he noticed a moisture in her eyes. ” She 
suspects what I am going to say, and the very thought 
of it repels her,” he said to himself. 

For a moment he hesitated, thinking that it would be 
better not to speak. The next instant he changed his 
mind completely, and burst forth almost in despair, 
‘‘ Gay, I must tell you, I can’t help it — I love you !” 

She sobbed and covered her face with her hands. 

He sank back in his chair and sighed, ” It’s all over 
forever.” 

Gabrielle was wondering whether it was wrong to be 
so happy. 

Agnes and Mrs. Crystal came into the room, and John 
Fulton recovered himself as best he could, and wished 
Gabrielle great happiness on her birthday. He was 
astonished at her return of good spirits. The sight of 
her laughing face made him sick at heart. He won- 
dered how she could feel so happy when she had made 


204 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


him so miserable. He left earlier than usual, invent- 
ing an excuse. Gabrielle stole out on the land- 
ing. 

“ Jack ! Jack !” she whispered in a low voice, lest her 
mother might hear her. 

He turned around surprised. 

“ Jack, I wanted to tell you before you left that — that 
— I always loved you.” 

” Loved me !” he exclaimed in astonishment, coming 
back to her. ” Why, you cried to-night when I spoke 
to you.” 

” I know, but that was because I was so happy.” 
She bowed her head as she spoke. 

” Why, you are crying now,” he said doubtfully. 

” 1 know, but didn’t you ever hear of people crying 
when they were very, very happy ?” 

” Yes, that’s so ; I never thought of that. Do girls 
always cry when they love a person ?” he said, as if to 
reassure himself by statistics. 

‘‘How do I know?” she answered, a little hurt; 
‘‘ I never was in love with anybody before. I have been 
in love with you all the time, and you never cared for 
me.” 

‘‘ Never cared for you, Gay ! Why, I love you better 
than my own life.” 

‘‘ Gay ! Gay !” her mother called, “ don’t be keeping 
Jack ; didn’t you hear him say he was in a hurry to get 
home ?” 

He caught her hand and asked again, to reassure him- 
self, ‘‘ Do you really love me. Gay ?” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


205 


She bowed her head in answer, and he raised her 
hand to his lips and kissed it. 

“ You must not be delaying Jack talking about trivial 
things when he is anxious to go,” Mrs. Crystal said to 
her daughter when she returned to the room. Ga- 
brielle promised that she would not do so any more, 
but she could not admit to herself that she had delayed 
Jack with talk of trivial things. 

The evening after John Fulton had told Gabrielle 
that he loved her, Mrs. Crystal and her eldest daughter 
were sitting alone. Mrs. Crystal had determined after 
mature deliberation to speak to Gabrielle about John 
Fulton’s 4ove for her. 

” I wish to say a few words to you. Gay,” her mother 
began, *‘ in regard to a matter that has been on my 
mind for some weeks past.” 

Gabrielle’s eyes opened in wonder at the serious tone 
of her mother’s voice. She blushed and grew pale by 
turns and shifted about uneasily in her chair. ” Did 
her mother suspect ?” she wondered. 

Mrs. Crystal continued, ” I have noticed of late a 
great change in Jack’s manner toward you.” 

Gabrielle dropped her eyes. 

” Have you been aware of this change yourself ?” 

Gabrielle nervously rubbed the plush on the arms of 
the chair the wrong way. 

Her mother repeated the question, ” Have you no- 
ticed Jack growing fonder of you ?” 

” I think so then she added as a qualification, ” a 
little.” 


2o6 


PASSING SI/ A DOWS. 


Mrs. Crystal shook her head at a large crayon por- 
trait of her husband hanging on the wall, as if to say, 

“ I told you so ” 

“ Have you given Jack any encouragement 

“ Well, I always liked Jack, you know, mamma, and 
when he began to like me 1 didn’t think it would be 
honest to tell him that I didn’t like him.” 

” You didn’t think it would be honest to tell him that 
you did not like him !” the mother exclaimed, repeat- 
ing her daughter’s words, ” Has Jack said anything to 
you V' 

Gabrielle hung her head. 

Her mother was insistent. ” Answer me ; has Jack 
spoken to you ?” 

Gabrielle bowed her head. It was the easiest way to 
answer. 

” What did he say ?” 

Heie was a good chance to tell everything and have 
the ordeal over. Gabrielle was finding it very disagree- 
able to feel one moment as if a simoom was blowing 
over her, and the next moment as if a wind from Green- 
land’s icy mountains was playing about her. Better 
pitch all reserve to the winds, arctic and equatorial, and . 
just out with the truth. 

” He said that he loved me.” 

‘‘ Goodness !” her mother cried. 

Gabrielle quickly jumped to her feet. 

” Gracious !” Mrs. Crystal exclaimed. 

Gabrielle fell back into her chair. 


PASSING SHADOIVS. 


207 


Each of her actions was unconscious — what philoso- 
phers call an actus hominis. 

“ And what did you say to him ?” 

“ Well, I couldn’t tell him a lie.” 

” And did you tell him that you loved him ?” 

‘‘ Yes ; I had to do so.” 

” Why did you have to ?” 

‘‘ Well” — Gabrielle pouted her lips and turned her 
head aside — ‘‘ because I do love him.” 

Mrs. Crystal sank back in her chair and was unable 
for several moments to say anything. 

Gabrielle recalled the poet’s line : 

“ The course of true love never did run smooth.” 

“ My love,” she murmured, ” must be genuine.” 

Mrs. Crystal gradually recovered. 

‘‘ Why didn’t you refer Jack to me or to your father 
when he spoke to you ?” 

‘‘ I didn’t think of it, it came so sudden.” 

” When did he speak to you ?” 

” Last evening,” Gabrielle answered. 

Mrs. Crystal shook her head hopelessly. If only she 
had acted twenty four hours sooner, she could at least 
have delayed matters. Now there was nothing else to 
do but to accept the situation. She thought of her own 
love-making, and how her father had received the love 
letters and told her what was in them. ” Eh bieiiy' she 
whispered to herself, ” it is a long way from Quebec to 
New York,” 


2o8 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Later in the evening Mrs. Crystal told the whole story 
to her husband, ending the recital by exclaiming, 
“ Didn’t I tell you so ?” 

He was forced to admit that she had,. And thus it 
became an accepted fact that John Fulton and Gabrielle 
Crystal were in love. 


FASSING SHADOWS. 


209 


CHAPTER XX. 

** Gold! Gold ! Gold ! Gold! 

Bright and yellow^ hard and cold.'"* 

M r. HARKINS had made a quarter of a million 
dollars in the real estate business. Then he 
began to dabble in railroad stocks. Several of his 
speculations were lucky ones, and this increased his 
greed for gold. 

A few weeks after the day Mr. Parker had inti- 
mated that he was thinking seriously of proposing to 
Clara, Mr. Harkins discovered that his more recent 
speculations in railroad stocks were likely to prove 
failures on account of the juggling of a clever and un- 
scrupulous financier. He had speculated so heavily 
that there was danger of the greater part of his fortune 
which he had made in real estate being swept away. 

Only one man could save him from such a calamity, 
and that was Mr. Parker. The anxiety of the father to 
have his daughter abandon her intention of becoming a 
nun naturally increased. 

Clara did not give Mr. Parker the least encourage- 
ment, and her father and mother noticed this. Her 
conduct was not at all in conformity with their wishes. 
Mr. Parker on one occasion intimated that he found 
Clara rather cool toward him in her manner, Mrs. 


210 


PASSING SNA DO tvs. 


Harkins explained that her daughter was so determined 
on entering a convent that she discouraged attentions 
from all men. This seemed to satisfy Mr. Parker, who 
on hearing of Clara’s intention became more desirous of 
making her his wife. 

At length the day of trial came for Mr. Harkins. 
Unless some one stood by him he would be ruined. 
Mr. Parker was his only hope. He laid the true state 
of his affairs before the millionaire, and Mr. Parker 
promised his assistance on condition of Clara’s accept- 
ance of him. 

Mr. Harkins, pale and worried-looking, came home 
earlier than usual that day, and letting himself quietly 
into the house, went straight to his daughter's room. 

When Clara saw his face she knew that his trouble 
must be a great one. He lost no time in coming to the 
point. 

“ I have asked you several times to abandon your in- 
tention of becoming a nun. I have never been able to 
get a promise from you. I have now come to tell you 
that if you will give up this idea, Mr. Parker is ready 
to make you his wife.” 

Clara closed the copy of ” The Imitation” which she 
had been reading, and laid it on the table. The news 
was not altogether unexpected, but still it came to Heir 
with no little shock. 

‘‘Whatever I do, I vfiW not marry Mr. Parker !” she 
answered with great determination. 

” I know Mr. Parker to be an excellent man,” her 
father went on. ” He treated his first wife splendidly^ 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


211 


and he will treat you just as well. He is immensely 
wealthy, and you can have everything you wish.^’ 

“ It is utterly useless, father,” the girl interrupted, 
” to recommend Mr. Parker to me. I simply will not 
marry him.” 

Mr. Harkins took a deep breath, and his teeth closed 
tight. The look in his eyes frightened his daughter. 
He moved backward until he came to the door, which 
he shut. 

” In less than one week as things are now I shall be a 
ruined man. I have ventured nearly all that I possess, 
and I am being closed in upon. There is one man that 
stands between me and bankruptcy. That man is Mr. 
Parker. If you accept his offer of marriage, I will be 
saved. If you refuse him, I will be a beggar.” 

Clara was shaking violently before her father finished 
speaking. Here was a reason advanced which had 
never been urged before. She hid her face in her hands, 
and broke into sobs. 

” O father, I cannot do it !” she cried. ” I don’t 
want to marry at all ; and as for Mr. Parker, I have not 
the slightest affection for him.” 

Whether Clara had any love for Mr. Parker was to 
her father’s mind a thing of no consequence whatever. 
It was an unknown quantity to him. He married his 
wife, who was considerably older than himself, not be- 
cause he loved her, but because by marrying her he saw a 
chance to get wealth. The great passion of his life had 
been money-making. He had made money his god, 
and now there was danger of his god abandoning him. 


212 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


The thought of becoming a poor man near the end of 
his life almost drove him mad. 

Mrs. Harkins, who was in another part of the house, 
heard the voices, and came downstairs and into her 
daughter’s room. She was, of course, surprised to find 
her husband there. Seeing his blanched face and Clara 
in tears, she asked for an explanation, and her husband 
told her then for the first time of his impending ruin. 

As soon as she had fully grasped the situation she 
burst into tears, exclaiming, “ O Clara ! you surely 
have not the heart to refuse Mr. Parker, when you know 
what will result from your refusal.” 

” I don’t know as I have the heart for anything ; I 
have had enough trouble to break it,” Clara answered. 

” But if you would only put that thought of the con- 
vent out of your mind, the rest, I am sure, would be 
very easy. Mr. Parker will idolize you. He will do 
everything to make you happy.” 

‘‘ He will do everything to make me unhappy by 
marrying me.” 

” Oh, don’t say that !” her mother exclaimed in an 
entreating voice. “Try for our sakes to reconcile your- 
self to marrying him.” 

” Oh, no, I cannot !” Clara answered passionately. 
” It would be a living death for me. There is no use,” 
she continued, as if she were giving the thought a trial 
in her mind ; ” I cannot do it !” 

“Will you send us to the poorhouse, then,” Mrs. 
Harkins asked angrily, ” just to satisfy a whim ?” 

” A whim .i*” the girl cried excitedly. ” Do you call 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


213 


the wish of my life a whim ? If you had allowed me to 
enter the convent two years ago, when I first proposed 
it, I would have been saved all this misery.” 

” But think of what would happen to us. Aren’t we 
to be considered ?” 

” Yes ; I suppose you are.” Sarcasm and anger 
were mingled in this last remark, and it was the first 
time in her life that Clara had ever spoken that way to 
her mother. 

” Would you be happy in a convent,” Mrs. Harkins 
continued, ‘‘ and your mother going out to do a day’s 
washing ? Imagine me having to go from house to house 
just as Ellen comes to us. Think of your poor mother 
reduced to such misery and you able to prevent it.” 

The thought was too much for Mrs. Harkins, and she 
again burst into tears. 

” O Clara, why will you be so obstinate and go 
against your father’s and your mother’s wishes ? 

Haven't we always done everything that we could for 

% 

you, and is it too much to ask you to do this one favor 
for us and keep us from poverty and ruin ?” 

Clara sat still, hardly realizing what her mother was 
saying. 

Mrs. Harkins, finding that she received no answer to 
her last solicitation, rushed over to her daughter’s side, 
and falling on her knees, cried, ‘‘ For my sake, Clara, 
make this sacrifice ! Do not let this misfortune fall 
upon us ! It will kill me if I am reduced to poverty in 
my old age ! Speak, I beg of you, and tell me that you 
will do it and save me from the grave !” 


214 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


This appeal was too much for the girl. The sight of 
her mother kneeling before her was more than she 
could bear. She turned to a small pearl crucifix which 
was hanging on the wall over her bed, and fixing her 
eyes intently on it, murmured to herself, “ Dear God, 
accept this bitterest of all sacrifices which I offer to 
Thee !” She then got up from her chair, and facing 
her mother, said, “ I will do what you have asked me. 
Now please leave me alone.” 

Mrs. Harkins rose from her knees, and throwing her 
arms about her daughter, exclaimed, ” God will reward 
you because 5^ou are a dutiful child.” 

The father and mother, satisfied at last, went out of 
the room, as their daughter requested. 

Clara Harkins, left alone, consoled herself in a strange 
way. She had not the slightest affection for the man 
she was to marry, therefore in marrying him she was 
not false in the least to her desire to become a nun. If 
he had been a young man, one of several she knew and 
admired, then there would be some compensation in 
the marriage. But in marrying Mr. Parker the sacrifice 
was complete, and she was happier in the thought that 
she did not care at all for him. She had not of her own 
will put her hand to the plough and then looked back. 
She was to marry simply to save her father from a 
financial wreck. It was a mariage de convenance., which 
would benefit her parents. She would be a good wife 
to Mr. Parker. He would have no cause to complain 
of her, except that she would have no affection for him, 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


215 


and he could not in all conscience, she said to herself, 
expect that. 

Having accepted the situation, she sat down to write 
a letter to the Mother Superior of the convent which 
she had intended entering. In the letter she stated the 
case as it was and her own feelings in the matter. 

Having finished it, she laid down the pen, and then 
the vision of the convent came up before her. The 
quiet, the nuns at prayer in the chapel or taking their 
recreation together, the grottoes in the garden, the 
different spiritual exercises, the panorama of the daily 
life of the nuns, which she promised herself would one 
day be hers, passed before her, and left her with bowed 
head, weeping bitterly. 


2i6 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


CHAPTER XXI. 


“ She sat like patience on a monuments 
HE news of Clara’s acceptance was sent next day 



to Mr. Parker. The millionaire had given Mr. 
Harkins to understand that in case he was to marry 
Clara, he would be perfectly satisfied with any arrange- 
ment her conscience would dictate to her in regard to 
the ceremony. 

It was agreed that Mr. Parker would call that after- 
noon to hear from his fiancee that she had accepted his 
proposal. 

Shortly after luncheon was over the door-bell rang, 
sounding in Clara’s ears like a death-knell, and the 
next moment she heard Mr. Parker’s voice in the hall- 
way. 

He was ushered into the pailor, and when Clara ap- 
peared was sitting there talking to her mother. Mrs. 
Harkins, after the first greeting was over, quietly left 
the room, and Clara found herself alone with the man 
she did not love. 

They exchanged a few general remarks, and then Mr. 
Parker, being a man to whom time was money, got 
down to business. 

“ I have always had a most exalted opinion of you. 
Miss Harkins,” he began ; ” and while I do not believe 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


217 


in young women entering convents, at the same time 
my admiration for you has increased because of this 
very desire.” 

She bowed in acknowledgment of his praise and held 
her peace. 

” There is so little of this self-sacrificing spirit in the 
world, that one is glad to find it, even though one can- 
not always approve of the manner in which it is mani- 
fested.” 

Clara bowed again. 

Mr. Parker, having finished his preface, entered upon 
the matter which had brought him to see her. 

” 1 spoke a short time ago to your father about my 
eagerness to make you my wife, and he told me then 
that you were so bent on entering a convent, that you 
would give the thought of marriage no place in your 
mind. I would have mentioned my desire to you first. 
Miss Harkins,” he said, by way of apology, ” only I 
never found you responsive enough when I was in your 
company. For that reason I consulted with your father, 
and to-day he called to see me, and told me that if I 
proposed to you I would be accepted. So I hastened 
to hear the happy acknowledgment from your own 
lips. Am I to understand that my proposal is ac- 
cepted ?” 

” You are, Mr. Parker, provided you understand the 
condition,” she replied. 

“What is that?” he asked, showing a mixture of 
happiness and curiosity. 

‘‘ I am willing to marry you, as my parents wish it ; 


2i8 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


but I make no promises of love. I do not love you, nor 
do I expect ever to be able to love you.” 

Mr. Parker hesitated before asking his next question. 
After the lapse of a few moments he said, ” Is there 
any one else with whom you are in love ?” 

” No one else,” she answered. ” If I must marry, 
I am as willing it should be you as another.” 

This was what Mr. Parker was anxious to hear. She 
preferred the convent to him, but nothing else. He 
rather liked the idea. He would eventually triumph 
over the convent in her affections. He was sure of this. 
He pictured her kneeling by his side some day, after 
they were married, and thanking him from an overflow- 
ing heart for the great privilege he had conferred upon 
her by making her his wife. 

Altogether Mr. Parker was well satisfied. It gave him 
no little pleasure to know that the girl he was going to 
marry was considerably above most young women in 
goodness. He promised himself that he would grow 
upon her. 

” I am anxious for the marriage to take place as soon 
as convenient to you. Miss Harkins,” he said. ” Would 
it be too much to ask you if the engagement might be 
announced immediately ?” 

” I do not object in the least,” she replied. ” The 
ceremony need not be delayed on my account.” 

” r would like to take a trip to Europe, as I have not 
been feeling well of late. We could go shortly after 
the marriage.” 

She shuddered when she thought of the trip to Europe. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


219 


In a few moments Mr. Parker finished all that he had 
to say, and Clara called her mother. When her mother 
came into the room the girl asked to be excused, plead- 
ing a headache. 

When she was gone Mrs. Harkins sat down beside 
Mr. Parker, and they discussed the situation. 

“ You must not expect to find my daughter over- 
pleased at the prospect of marriage,” Mrs. Harkins ex- 
plained. ‘‘ She has been so determined on becoming a 
nun, that the very thought of marriage has been hate- 
ful to her. You must make allowance for her on that 
account, if you find her unsatisfactory.” 

Mr. Parker assured her that his first interview with 
Clara was all that he desired. 

” As she grows older,” continued Mrs. Harkins, ” she 
will get rid of these foolish notions, and then, Mr. 
Parker, you will have for your wife one of the best 
young women on this earth.” 

‘‘ I am sure of that,” he assented. ” It does not do 
a girl any harm to have notions of this kind when she 
is young. They make her a better woman. Her nature 
becomes more spiritualized.” 

He was convinced that he was just the man to appre- 
ciate and enjoy such a nature. 

Mr. Parker rose to go, ” I shall do all in my power 
to make Clara happy,” he said, as he reached for his 
hat and cane. 

” And she will be happy without doubt,” Mrs. Har- 
kins exclaimed in an outburst of feeling. 


220 


PASSING SNADOPVS, 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“Ai?/ so sick, my lord. 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies^ 

That keep her from her rest." 

I T is one thing to make a sacrifice, but it is another 
thing to bear up under the burden of it. Thus it 
was in Clara Harkins’s case. The attitude of her 
parents in regard to what she considered a call from 
Heaven, to lead a life apart from the world, had been a 
great strain for her to bear. She was not, therefore, 
very strong physically, when this new trouble came 
upon her. 

After her mother’s entreaty she felt that there was 
nothing else to do but to accept Mr. Parker. He stood 
between her father and ruin, and for that reason she 
would become the millionaire’s wife. She formulated 
this proposition to herself over and over again, and 
kept telling herself that she was doing her duty. But 
somehow the load about her heart grew hourly heavier. 
When the door-bell rang the sound of it cut through 
her like a knife. In the solitude of her room she feared 
she would go mad. 

For one week she stood this terrible strain, and then 
something snapped. It was just at dusk one evening 
that Mrs. Harkins came into her daughter’s room. The 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


221 


shades had been drawn and the gas was burning 
dimly. Clara was lying on the bed moaning. At the 
sound of her mother’s voice she sprang up and burst 
into tears. The next moment she began talking in- 
coherently. 

When Mrs. Harkins saw the look in Clara’s eyes, her 
face blanched and her heart seemed to stand still. “ In- 
sane !” was the word that came to her lips. 

“ O my child !” she cried, throwing her arms about 
her daughter’s neck and breaking into sobs ; “ what 
have we done to you ?” 

The sight of her mother weeping recalled Clara to a 
sense of her surroundings, and for a time her clouded 
mind seemed to clear. But it was only for a little 
while, and then followed weeping and incoherencies of 
speech. 

That night the family physician was called, and Mrs. 
Harkins met him in the hallway and unburdened her 
mind to him. He had been treating the girl a long 
time and knew well what was the cause of her ill- 
ness. 

After a short talk with the doctor Clara grew calmer, 
and he saw that while her nerves were unstrung there 
was nothing radically wrong with her mind. But this 
knowledge he kept to himself. He sympathized with 
the suffering girl, and for that reason he gave her father 
and mother to understand that any attempt at a mar- 
riage with Mr. Parker at the present time would prob- 
ably prove fatal to Clara. He also, as an extra pre- 
caution, advised that she be moved to some private re- 


222 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


treat, as her present surroundings were only calculated 
to increase the malady. 

Mr. and Mrs. Harkins lost no time in following the 
advice of the physician. They engaged rooms in a 
private hospital just outside the city, and thither the 
mother and daughter went a few days afterward. 

It did not take long for the facts of Clara’s illness and 
the cause of it to spread among the friends of the girl 
and of Mr. Parker. Nor did the story lose anything in 
the telling of it. Unfortunately for the millionaire, the 
blame was laid at his door. There were rumors in the 
air that Mr. Harkins had lost heavily of late in his 
speculations, and that Mr. Parker had agreed to come 
to his rescue provided Mr. Harkins would hand over 
his daughter to him. Now, a story of this kind was 
just the thing that Mr. Parker could not stand. There 
was one thing he valued most of all, and that was an 
immaculate reputation, and hitherto he had preserved 
one. 

When the rumor reached his club he denied it with 
an oath, protesting that he had always acted in the mat- 
ter as became an honorable man. 

The news that Clara’s health was broken and that her 
mind was possibly affected, cured Mr. Parker at once of 
his love for her. Clara full of high ideals had appealed 
to him strongly. He acknowledged to himself that only 
such a woman could properly appreciate a man of his 
qualities. But Clara ill and suffering would never do 
for a wife for him. Indeed, he was sorry that he had 
ever spoken to her father. He valued his reputation 


PASS/ JVC SI/ADOIVS. 


223 


far more than the love of any girl. The ugly story 
about him that was being freely circulated annoyed 
him, and made him wish that he had not been so hasty 
in declaring his intentions. 

A few days after Clara had been removed from her 
home the financial crash came, through which Mr. 
Parker had promised to see Mr. Harkins in safety. 

Mr. Parker’s feelings toward his once prospective 
father-in-law had undergone a change. He accused 
Mr. Harkins of want of tact, and laid the blame of 
Clara’s illness on him. There was an angry quarrel, 
but it did not last long. The anger passed away, and 
Mr. Parker agreed to stand by Mr. Harkins during the 
crash. Mr. Harkins was anxious to hold the millionaire 
to his bargain, and Mr. Parker, desirous of ending the 
matter, so that his reputation would not suffer any fur- 
ther, was satisfied to fulfil his part of the contract. 

Clara rested quietly in the hospital, and a great joy 
filled her heart when word came to her that Mr. Parker 
wished to break the engagement. 


224 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


“ The star of Love, all stars above. 

Now reigns o'er earth a7id sky. 

And high atid low the influe^ice know — 

But where is County Guy ?' ’ 

S John Fulton and Gabrielle were taking leave of 



each other one evening, a few weeks after they 
had acknowledged their mutual love, he held her hand 
for a moment and said, “ Til bring you a ring the next 
time I come, if you’ll wear it.” She turned her head 
aside, and blushing, answered, ” If I will wear it ?” 

The following day a German steamer arrived at the 
port of New York with a large mail. Every letter- 
carrier whose district lies in the German neighborhood 
on the East Side knows from experience what an in- 
crease of work the arrival of a German steamer means 
for him. John Fulton had carried several heavy mail- 
bags out with him that day. On his last round he looked 
up at the clock on the high tower of a church and saw that 
he was unusually late. He had still two letters to de- 
liver, but the delivery of them would necessitate a long 
walk. A cold and penetrating wind blew up from the 
East River, and it was raining heavily. 

He had not been well during the day, and now he felt 
the wind chilling him and making his teeth chatter. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


225 


“ I can deliver these letters in the morning,” he said 
to himself, ” so I’ll return them to the clerk to-night.” 
He slipped them into the pocket of his coat and hurried 
back to the post-ofRce. 

When he arrived there, all recollection of the letters 
had passed out of his mind! 

He took off his coat and hung it on a nail while he 
went into the lavatory to wash his hands. There were 
three persons about the office at the time, none of whom 
he noticed. One, who was dressed as an ordinary 
laborer, was tying together several large pieces of wood 
which the carpenters. In making some alterations, had 
left after them. The other was an old woman, who had 
been scrubbing the floors during the day. These two 
went away together. The third person was Horace 
Bryce, who had remained somewhat late to do a little 
work which he had neglected. 

John Fulton returned from the lavatory in a few 
moments, and slipping on his coat started for home. 

He took a dose of quinine and went immediately to 
bed. On awakening in the morning he found himself 
much better, and then for the first time recollected that 
he had not returned the letters. 

He caught up his coat and felt in the pocket to assure 
himself that the letters were safe, but to his great sur 
prise they were missing. He looked about the room, 
but with no better success. 

It was still early, and dressing hurriedly, he started 
immediately for the post-office, hoping that he would 
find them there. He went to the place wh^re he had 


226 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


hung his coat the evening before, but was again unsuc- 
cessful. He searched all over the post-office, but found 
no trace of the missing letters. He was in a quandary 
as to what to do. He did not like to report the loss, as 
he would be judged guilty of great negligence in not 
having delivered the letters, or at least in not having 
reported the fact and returned the letters to the clerk. 
To say he forgot seemed to him a silly excuse. He 
finally decided that he would wait a little before making 
known his loss. Perhaps some other carrier had found 
the letters and would return them to him. 

Evening came, and he heard no news of the missing 
letters. The next day he did not make known his mis- 
hap, as the clerk to whom he wished to confide his 
secret was absent; so he put the matter out of his head 
for that day, lest he might appear worried when he 
called on Gabrielle in the evening. 

During his dinner hour he stopped at a jewelry store 
and bought the engagement ring. 

Gabrielle Crystal, resplendent in a new dress, lit the 
gas that evening in her parlor, and put the blower over 
the grate to quicken the dying fire into life again. 

“ I expect Jack to-night, Agnes,” she said, as she ar- 
ranged the room. ” He is going to bring me a present.” 

She looked into her sister’s eyes, and the look, if it 
were interpreted into words, would have meant, ” Ask 
me what.” 

Agnes understood that she was being questioned, and 
inquired what the present would be. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


227 


“ An engagement ring,” Gabrielle answered with a 
happy smile. ” I feel so soiry for you, Agnes, when I 
think of your going to bury yourself in a convent and 
being deprived of all the things on which a girl sets her 
heart.” 

Agnes looked at her and smiled. 

” Don’t make yourself unhappy. Gay, worrying about 
me. I feel certain that I am the happiest girl in New 
York. There isn’t anything in the whole world that I 
would exchange for the life of a nun.” 

” I am glad to hear you say that, but I am afraid you 
hardly appreciate the greatness of my joy.” 

” We both ought to be well satisfied with ourselves,” 
Agnes replied, ” because I feel the same way in regard 
to you. It seems to me that life in the world is such a 
little thing. I never could feel satisfied with it. I 
want the complete satisfaction which can only come from 
the knowledge that every action, every thought even, is 
expended for the love of God. No matter how poor a 
nun I may be, no matter how far I may fall below my 
ideal, I shall always have the almost infinite consolation 
of knowing that I did everything for the pure love of 
God. A. M. D. G., you know, as we used to put at the 
beginning of our lessons in school,” 

Gabrielle listened with attention to her sister’s seri- 
ous words, but she hardly comprehended their mean- 
ing. 

She leaned over the chair on which Agnes was sitting 
and kissed her. 

” I am afraid I do not understand you, but I am sure 


228 


PASSING SIIADOWS. 


Our Lord does, and that is all you ever seem to care 
about.” 

The onyx clock on the mantel struck twice like a bell 
tolling, which indicated that it was a half hour after 
eight o’clock. Gabrielle uttered an exclamation of sur- 
prise, and walking over to the window looked anxiously 
up the street. 

” I wonder why Jack is not here before this ?” she 
said, scrutinizing several men on the sidewalk below. 
” He promised to be down early to-night. Another 
hard day’s work, 1 suppose.” 

She pulled down the shade and turned to Agnes 
again. Then a new thought struck her, and her face 
brightened. She gave the piano stool a few quick turns 
and seated herself before the instrument. 

” I know what will bring Jack,” she remarked, turn- 
ing her head around to Agnes with a happy smile ; ” I 
will play his favorite song.” She struck the piano 
softly and began to hum an old air. The next instant 
the door-bell rang. 

” Didn’t I tell you that I would bring him ?” Gabrielle 
exclaimed, jumping up from the piano, well satisfied 
with herself. 

She heard somebody downstairs open the door, so she 
waited on the landing to welcome her lover. 

A small boy came slowly up the stairs. Before reach- 
ing the top of the short flight he saw Gabrielle, and 
stopped chewing a huge mouthful of tutti-frutti gum 
long enough to ask, ” Anybody by the name of Crystal 
live here ?” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


229 


Gabrielle’s heart beat violently as she discovered 
that the boy was a telegraph messenger and held in his 
hand a telegram. She could never get used to the sight 
of telegrams. She succeeded, after several unsuccessful 
attempts, in opening the envelope, and then she read 
these words, “ Impossible to come down to-night. 
Jack.” 

She held the telegram before her in a dazed way. 

” Sign here, please, miss,” the boy with the mouth- 
ful of tutti-frutti said, holding up his book and a small, 
greasy lead-pencil. 

She signed the book and handed it back to him. 

” I hope it ain’t bad news,” he remarked sympatheti- 
cally, as he took his book and pencil. ” I hate to bring 
bad news. Now, this morning I brought a telegram to 
a woman, and when she opened it she fell in a faint 
right in my arms. The telegram said her little boy was 
dead, see ?” 

” No ; it’s all right,” Gabrielle responded to the in- 
quiries of the small boy, and searching in her pocket- 
book, found ten cents and gave it to him. 

He took the chewing gum out of his mouth — a thing 
he seldom did — and bowed his thanks. 

” You don’t want to send an answer, do you, miss ?” 
he asked, as he halted on the stairs. 

” No,” replied Gabrielle ; ” there is no answer.” 

‘‘ Well, good-night, miss ; I’m glad you got good 
news instead of bad.” 

Gabrielle went into the room and showed the message 
to Agnes and her mother. 


230 PASSING SHADOWS. 

“ I wonder what can be the matter?” she asked, as 
she held the telegram in her trembling hands. 

” Perhaps he has extra work this ev''ening, ” Mrs. 
Crystal suggested. 

” Perhaps he doesn’t feel well, and did not want to 
worry you by sending that as a reason,” Agnes gave as 
her opinion. 

But both were wide of the mark. 

While Gabrielle was telling her sister how happy she 
felt, John Fulton, handcuffed to a detective, was on his 
way to Police Headquarters to answer to the charge of 
robbing the United States mail. 

There had been several thefts committed within a 
short time in the branch post-office to which John Fulton 
was attached. Letters were sent there from the general 
post-office, but were never delivered. The authorities 
had taken the matter in hand, and for more than a 
month a private detective had been watching the mail. 
One of the letters which John Fulton failed to return 
the evening he was so ill and tired, contained a one- 
hundred-dollar bill, and the man to whom it was ad- 
dressed had received a notice the same day advising 
him of the fact that the money had been sent. On not 
getting the letter, he reported the fact immediately at 
the post-office, and the detective was only a short time 
in tracing the missing money to John Fulton. 

Robbing the mail is always a serious charge, and in 
this instance it was unfortunate for John Fulton that 
several offences of this kind had been committed just 
previous to his unhappy accident. He was brought up 


PASSmC SHADOIVS. 


231 


for trial in an unusually short time, the postmaster 
being anxious to make an example of somebody. The 
young man told his story in a simple, straightforward 
manner, explaining how his memory had played him a 
trick, else he would have returned the two undelivered 
letters to the clerk when he arrived at the office. He 
could give no explanation as to how he lost the letters. 
They might have dropped out of his coat, and again 
some one might have stolen them. 

The judge’s charge to the jury was impartial enough. 
He instructed them that as no evidence had been 
brought forward to show that the prisoner was in any 
way connected with the other thefts which had been 
committed, the jury would not be justified in holding 
him responsible in any way for them. 

They left the court-room, and in less than an hour’s 
time filed back again. When they had taken their 
places the judge asked if they had agreed on a ver- 
dict. 

“ We have. Your Honor,” the foreman answered. 

In a moment the crowded court-room was as quiet as 
death. 

The judge, addressing the jury, again asked, ” What 
is your verdict ? Guilty or not guilty ?” 

” Guilty !” rang out the foreman’s voice in the quiet 
room. 

There was a woman’s sob, a hiss from a number of 
letter-carriers who stood in a group together, and again 
all was still. 

John Fulton was then commanded to rise, and the 


232 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


judge, before pronouncing sentence, asked him if he 
had anything to say or any reason to give why sentence 
should not be passed upon him. 

He rose slowly from his seat, and caught hold of the 
top of the bench in front of him to relieve his nervous- 
ness. His voice broke as he pronounced the first few 
words, but in an instant he had gained control of him- 
self. 

“ I have nothing further to say than this, I am not a 
thief.” 

The court-room rang with spontaneous applause, in 
which even uninterested loiterers joined. There was 
the mark of truth in his words. The sympathetic ap- 
plause was loud and long, but the prisoner did not hear 
it. He fell back in his seat, the flush disappeared from 
his cheeks, and he grew suddenly white and cold as his 
head dropped on his breast. 

‘‘ Poor Gay ! Poor Gay !” was all he said. 

The judge, in a kindly tone, bade him rise again to 
hear his sentence. The jury had not made any recom- 
mendation to mercy, but there was something in the 
manner of the convicted man as he said, ” I am not a 
thief !” which impressed the magistrate. He spoke in 
a feeling way of the young man’s former good charac- 
ter, and then imposed the lightest sentence consonant 
with the verdict — two years in prison. 

Mr. and Mrs. Crystal, who were at the trial, spoke a 
few encouraging words to John Fulton in the corridor, 
where they met him on his way to the cell. He grasped 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


233 


Mr. Crystal’s hand and whispered, “ I feel it most on 
account of Gay.” 

” She will bear up,” Mr. Crystal answered ; ” Gay is 
brave and strong.” 

John Fulton did not linger long in his parting with 
Mrs. Crystal. There was a look of pain in her face that 
reminded him strangely of Gabrielle the night that he 
had raised his eyes from the chess-board and had seen 
big tears trembling on her dark lashes. 

” Tell her not to worry ; that I can stand it.” 

He made a faint attempt to smile, but his heart was 
sore at the sight of the mother of the girl he loved, and 
he was glad when the officer touched him on the shoul- 
der and told him it was time to go. 

Mr. Crystal and his wife turned their weary steps 
homeward, and passed through the crowd of loiterers 
who seem to have no other business in life than to hang 
about the city courts listening to the trials. .Some of 
the idlers whispered as Mr. Crystal and his wife went 
by, ” There goes his poor mother and father.” 

Evidently if the convicted man had been tried by a 
jury picked from among them he would have been 
acquitted. But the mail had been robbed, and the 
thief must be caught and punished. John Fulton had 
made a mistake, and so he became the scapegoat. There 
was nothing strange in this. Men often in life have 
to suffer more for their mistakes than for their sins. 

Gabrielle was watching from the window for the first 
sight of her father and mother. She had wished to 


234 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


attend the trial, but John Fulton would not hear of it ; 
so in deference to his wishes she lemained at home. 
The day was a cold and dreary one in the latter part of 
April. Gabrielle had been at the closed window for 
over an hour, looking up and down the street as far as 
she could, to catch a glimpse of her father and mother. 
The children going home from school to dinner and 
returning diverted her. A few of them looked up and, 
seeing her, smiled or threw a kiss, and she tried to smile 
back at them. 

At last her father and mother came down the street, 
and she saw at a glance her fate written on their faces. 
With an effort she gathered her strength together 
and opened the parlor door for them. Her breath came 
in great gasps, and her white face was set and hard. 
Her mother looked at her in anguish, but said nothing. 

Gabrielle waited a moment, and finding her mother 
silent, burst out in anger, it seemed, and exclaimed, 
“ Did they say Jack was a thief ?” 

“ Sit down, Gay,” her mother answered softly, ” and 
in a little while we will tell you all.” 

Gabrielle turned to her father and asked somewhat 
impatiently, ” Tell me, did they declare him guilty ? 
I want to know ; I am able to stand it.” 

Mr. Crystal watched her steadily for a moment as if 
measuring her strength. She seemed unusually cool, 
but there was an unnatural look in her face. He told 
her that John Fulton had been convicted. 

” What is the sentence?” she asked with a coolness 
which frightened her mother, who again begged her to 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


235 


sit down and calm herself and not ask any more ques- 
tions. 

Her father hesitated, and she exclaimed, “ I must 
know ; I have a right to know, as I am the one most 
concerned in it !” 

“ Well, Gay, it’s not for long,” he answered ; ” only 
two years.” 

She swayed for a moment and then pitched suddenly 
forward. Her father caught her in his arms and tried 
to kiss the death-like lips back into life again. He 
laid her on the bed, and it was a long time before she 
gave any signs of returning life. 

For three days she was utterly prostrated. In the 
meantime John Fulton had been railroaded off to 
prison. At the end of a week Gabrielle was able to 
leave her bed. They gave her a letter from John Ful- 
ton, and it seemed to revive her more than the doctor’s 
medicine. The next morning she rose early and an- 
nounced that she was going to work. 

” It will occupy my mind, mamma,” she answered 
when her mother protested. “ I will forget a little 
while I am hard at work, whereas if I keep on thinking 
all the time I shall go crazy.” 

” Well, go in God’s name, dear, if you think it will 
do you good,” her mother answered. 

In the evening when she returned she seemed some- 
what brighter, and ate a little supper with apparent 
relish. She chatted for a short time after the meal was 
finished, and then quietly walked into the outer room, 
closing the door behind her. Agnes followed several 


236 


FASSnVG SHADOWS, 


minutes afterward and noiselessly opened the door. 
Looking into the room, she saw Gabrielle kneeling at 
the sofa, with her head bowed in an agony of despair. 
At her feet lay John Fulton’s letter. Her body shook 
with the violence of her great grief. 

Agnes came quietly over to her, dropped down beside 
her, and slipped an arm about her sister’s waist. 

“ Don’t suffer so much, Gay,” she said, whispering 
in her ear. 

At the sound of Agnes’s voice Gabrielle’s grief broke 
out anew and her head beat against the rough hair- 
cloth of the old-fashioned sofa. 

” O Agnes, you don’t understand !” she cried bit- 
terly. “ You cannot understand. I have to suffer all 
alone. It’s too terrible !” 

Agnes felt her sister’s body writhing in anguish, and 
it frightened her. She slipped her arm about Gabrielle’s 
neck and laid her cool hand on her sister’s feverish 
brow. 

“ It’s too much !” Gabiielle exclaimed again. "Just 
when we were both so happy they send him to prison 
as a thief !” 

The pronouncing of the word ” thief” seemed to 
make her feel even more keenly the heavy blow which 
had fallen so unexpectedly on her and on her lover, and 
her sobbing began again. 

‘‘ Don’t kill yourself. Gay, with sorrow,” Agnes said, 
trying to comfort her, and keeping back with great 
difficulty the tears starting from her own eyes. ” Trust 
in God ; it will all come right somehow in the end. You 


PASSING SI/ADOfVS. 


237 


will always love each other, no matter what happens. 
Besides, it might have been worse.” 

” No, no, no ; it could not have been worse !” Ga- 
brielle responded, her anger checking for a moment the 
violence of her sobbing. ” You mean that if he had 
died it would have been a greater affliction ; but that is 
not so. I do not think that his death even would have 
been so hard to bear as the thought that he has been 
condemned to prison for a crime which he never com- 
mitted.” 

Agnes felt her sister growing rigid, and realized that 
the agony was about to begin again, so she hastily re- 
plied, ” I didn’t mean Jack’s death would have been a 
greater trial to you ; but just imagine how you would 
have felt if you knew that he was really guilty.” 

The approaching fit of anguish was suddenly arrested. 
Agnes saw at once that she had said the right thing. 
It was a new thought for Gabrielle, and it proved a con- 
vincing argument, as her changed countenance plainly 
showed. 

She turned toward Agnes, and there was a beseeching 
look in her face, as if she craved for more consoling 
thoughts. 

Agnes kissed the upturned cheek, wet with tears, and 
drew Gabrielle from off her knees, and they both sat 
on the sofa together. Then the younger sister con- 
tinued, ” I don’t think. Gay, that you ought to grieve 
so much and so despairingly. I know your cross is a 
heavy one, but then if you only use your reason ever so 
little, you will see that not only might it be worse, but 


238 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


that it is not even so heavy or so hopeless as you im- 
agine. To begin with, in the whole matter there is no 
sin or crime. Jack is just as honorable to day as he 
ever was. Supposing now, for instance, that after you 
had given him your love he had turned out to be a 
thief, then think how terrible your suffering would 
be.” 

Gabrielle greedily drank in every word, and they 
seemed to strengthen her like an invigorating cordial. 
Agnes, noticing the effect of what she was saying, kept 
on in the same strain. 

” I am sure if I was in love with a young man and 
the same misfortune befell him as befell Jack, instead 
of grieving myself to death or worrying about the dis- 
grace, I would feel more like defying the world. I 
would draw a consolation out of the misfortune, for I 
would love him all the better for his having suffered 
innocently. ” 

These simple arguments gave Gabrielle’s mind some- 
thing to reason upon, and they lightened not a little 
the heavy feeling about her heart. 

Agnes watched with gladness the gloom and sorrow 
disappearing from her sister’s face, and followed up the 
advantage she had gained by more consoling words. 

” For Jack’s sake. Gay, you must bear up. The time 
will not be long in passing. And just think how poor 
Jack will feel if he hears that you are grieving yourself 
to death. Why, his only consolation is to look forward 
to marrying you when he is released.” 

Gabrielle raised her handkerchief to her face and 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


239 


drew it across her eyes to obliterate the traces of her 
tears. 

“ What you say is true, Agnes ; I ought to bear up 
for Jack’s sake. ” 

“ Exactly ; it will be milk and honey to Jack to re- 
ceive happy and consoling letters from you, telling him 
how well you are bearing up for love of him, and 
how anxiously you are looking forward to the time 
when he will regain his liberty. There are many little 
things you might do to gladden him. For instance, 
you might get your photograph taken in your new 
dress, which he did not see, and send the picture to 
him. That dress is wonderfully becoming to you.” 

The happy light of a new hope came into Gabrielle’s 
eyes. 

” You are awfully good, Agnes,” she said, ” to sug- 
gest all these thoughts to me. You make me hope 
again.” 

Agnes watched with great happiness the signs which 
told her that her sister was beginning to be reconciled 
to her lot. 

“You always say,” she rejoined, ” that I get every- 
thing I pray for. Now, won’t you trust to my prayers 
once more, especially when I tell you that I was up to 
the convent to-day and spoke to Sister Eunice about 
you, and that she promised to have all the sisters pray 
for you and Jack ? God isn’t going to let you suffer all 
the time. You’ll have many a happy day in your life 
yet, if you only try to be strong and patient. Besides, 
while I was praying this afternoon in the sisters’ chapel. 


240 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


I askea Our Lord to give you all the happiness which 
He may have had in keeping for me.” 

These last words of Agnes wrought a quick and won- 
derful change in Gabrielle. 

Like a flash her whole life came up before her mind. 
In an instant she remembered i\gnes’s many acts of 
kindness and her untiring patience. How well her 
younger sister had borne with every gii lish whim of hers ! 

From early childhood it was always Agnes who made 
the sacrifices, and yet Agnes was a girl like herself, 
with even a more sensitive nature. It was true Agnes 
was to enter the convent, but was that a reason why she 
should always be the one to make the sacrifices 
Thoughts like these ran in a confused way through 
Gabrielle’s mind when Agnes made known to her that 
she had prayed God to give all her own future happi- 
ness to her suffering sister. 

As soon as Gabrielle realized Agnes’s generosity, she 
caught her in her arms and kissed her, 

“No, no, Agnes!” she cried ; “you must not pray 
like that. You must take back that prayer. I have 
been altogether too selfish ; I have never really con- 
sidered you as I should have done. I have always 
thought of my own ends, and whether they would bring 
you one little bit of happiness I have never stopped to 
think. Now I am beginning to see and understand 
things better. It seems that it was necessary for me 
to suffer in order that my eyes might be opened. So 
promise me now that you’ll take back that prayer. 
It makes me feel as if I was your murderer.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


241 


She held her sister’s hand between her own, and the 
traces of her great sorrow were fast disappearing from 
her face. 

“ I am reconciled to my cross now,” she continued. 
” You have taught me more in these few moments than 
I have learned in years. I believe I am almost content 
to have suffered so much in order to have learned this* 
lesson. It will make me a better woman. See, now I 
have dried my eyes. There is no fear of my despairing 
again, so promise me that you will go up to the con- 
vent chapel to morrow and revoke your prayer.” 

Agnes with a satisfied heart answered, ” I’ll do any- 
thing you wish. Gay, if you will only try to be patient, 
and not give way as you did to-night to such awful 
despair.” 

” It was terrible, wasn’t it ? I never before lost hope 
as I did this evening, and I trust I never shall again. 
It makes me shiver to think of what a great sin I have 
been guilty.” 

” Forget all about it, and make a strong resolution 
not to give way so completely again.” 

Agnes’s philosophy was like a healing balm applied 
to Gabrielle’s wounds. It soothed her aching heart and 
strengthened her. 

” Suppose, Gay, we put our hats on and take a walk,” 
the younger sister suggested ; ” you’ll feel better for 
doing so.” 

Gabrielle gladly assented, and the two girls went into 
the room where Mrs. Crystal, with a pained look of the 
Mater Dolorosa in her eyes, had been sitting and worry- 


242 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


ing about Gabrielle while the minutes slipped slowly 
away. 

Agnes, as she entered the room, gave a quiet signal 
to her mother, to acquaint her of the fact that Gabrielle 
was better. 

“ We are going for a walk,” Gabrielle announced to 
her mother. ” I think it will do me good.” 

” I hope it will, dear,” Mrs. Crystal replied, and the 
next moment the expression of her face changed, and 
she would have made a poor model for the Mater 
Dolorosa. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


243 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ There ! little girl, don't cry ! 

They have broke7i your heart, I know. 

And the rainbow gleams 
Of your youthful drea7}ts 
A re thmgs of lottg ago ; 

But Heaven holds all for which you sigh. 

There ! little girl, doti't cry !" 

T he two girls walked to the north until they reached 
Houston Street. On turning the corner Ga- 
biielle noticed a fold of black and white crepe orna- 
mented with a large white rosette hanging from the door- 
bell of a house. A shining black undertaker’s wagon 
stood in the street. There was a washtub, half filled 
with broken ice, on the sidewalk. A little toddler had 
been helping herself to some of the ice, until an older 
sister saw her and forced the child to throw away the 
ice, which deprivation made the younger one cry. 
Children of all sizes blocked the sidewalk, making walk- 
ing rather difficult. 

As Gabrielle and Agnes reached the doorway of the 
house, three girls were coming out and a woman was 
passing in. The woman paused for a moment, and un- 
covering a pasteboard box, said to the girls, “ I have 
his habit here. It is very pretty.” 

The girls examined the brown and white silk habit. 


244 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


answering that it was “ lov^ely looking/’ and then one 
of them remarked, loud enough for Gabrielle to hear, 
“ Isn’t it sad ! Just think, she was to have been married 
to him next month, and her wedding-dress was ready.” 

“ From the way she looks to-night,” another of the 
trio added, ” I shouldn’t wonder if she would soon 
follow him,” 

Gabrielle listened to their words with a kind of fas- 
cination, and then clutched her sister’s arm, while a cold 
chill passed over her. The black wagon, the tub of ice, 
and the words of the young girls unnerved her. The 
whole thing made her realize intensely, how much worse 
it would have been if John Fulton had died. Death 
took away hope. She still could hope. The thought 
which came into her mind as she walked along medi- 
tating was, that there was another girl in New York that 
night, probably just as good as she, who was carrying 
a heavier cross. 

When the first shock of what she had seen had passed 
away, it left her feeling better and brighter. It helped 
to make her more firm in her resolution not to go mop- 
ing about in hopeless despair, as she had been doing. 
The realization of another’s greater sorrow made her 
own seem less. The picture of John Fulton lying in 
his coffin, with his white face pillowed on the silk cush- 
ion and his lifeless arms stretched across his breast, 
passed before her mind, and she closed her eyes in hor- 
ror to shut out the vision. 

” Do you know, Agnes,” she said, breaking the 
silence, ” you were right. My trouble could have been 


PASSING S/IADOIVS. 


245 


worse in many ways. If Jack had died, I realize now 
how much greater would be my suffering.” 

They turned the corner of the narrow street, and came 
into Second Avenue. It was a warm night for so early 
in May, and the avenue was crowded. The fronts of 
the cafes, which dotted both sides of the broad avenue, 
were transformed into bowers, and great numbers of 
men who first saw the light of day within the confines 
of Bohemia and Hungary sat at round tables drinking 
cool drinks and talking incessantly. Besides the cafes, 
where all was light and life and talk, there were beer 
saloons, where men sat and played cards quietly; Apfel- 
wein stubes, where cider was the only drink obtainable, 
and Weissbier tunnels, where morose-looking men sat 
in front of huge glasses of this peculiar beverage and 
said nothing. 

When the two girls reached the northern end of Stuy- 
vesant Park they turned to the east and walked around 
the park. An empty bench near the southeastern end 
seemed to invite them, and they entered and sat down. 

The trees were beginning to look green, and their 
thousand tiny leaves trembled in the warm May breeze. 
The odor of new grass sweetened the air. Through the 
tall trees the electric lights shone and spluttered ; some 
were purplish, some a reddish-brown, and some a clear 
white. From where the two girls were sitting they 
could see just across fiom the park the convent of the 
Sisters de la Misericorde, with the light from the sanc- 
tuary lamp falling like a nimbus about the figure of the 
Madonna on the stained-glass window. 


246 


PASSING SNA DO IV S 


It was in this very chapel that Agnes Crystal had 
made an offering of all her future happiness for the sake 
of Gabrielle. 

Agnes had been thinking seriously of late of entering 
this convent. The work that she would have to do, if 
she entered, was after her own heart. The sisters went 
out into the homes of the poor who were ill and nursed 
them. One of the nuns, for instance, would remain up 
all night with a dying girl, so that her tired mother 
could get some sleep. 

Mother Eunice, a bright Frenchwoman, the Superior 
of the convent, happened upon Agnes Crystal in a sick- 
room, and being struck with the piety and intelligence 
of the girl, immediately took an interest in her, and in- 
vited her to the convent. In a short time Mother 
Eunice was convinced that Agnes Crystal would make 
a valuable addition to her little struggling community. 

“ I must have her for myself,” she said, after Agnes 
Ciystal had left one day. ” I will get the sisters to 
make a novena to /e bon Dieu to send her to the poor 
Convent de la Misericorde. ” 

After supper was over at the convent, on the same 
evening that Gabrielle and Agnes were sitting in the 
park. Mother Eunice came into the garden where the 
sisters were sitting in recreation, to summon Sister 
Genevieve, her assistant, to a conference in the sisters’ 
common room. 

Sister Genevieve was short and rotund, with cheeks 
as rosy as the polished red apples which Italian venders 
exhibit on their fruit-stands. The day had been a fast- 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


247 


day, and the sisters were asking Sister Genevieve, who 
was the procuratrix of the convent, to explain how it 
was that she looked even ruddier and healthier on 
fast-days than on ordinary days. 

“It is strange,” one of the nuns remarked, “how 
Lent even seems to improve Sister Genevieve. Her 
cheeks looked redder on Easter Sunday than they did 
on Ash Wednesday.” 

“ Oh, Sister Genevieve keeps the fast at table,” one 
of the others remarked, “ but then sister is procuratrix, 
and when she leaves the table she goes into the pantry 
and has another quiet meal. That is the reason why 
she looks so well on fast-days. Instead of three ordi- 
nary meals she gets about four meals, with a couple of 
collations.” 

Sister Genevieve sat on a bench, quietly listening to 
her reputation for mortification being assailed. 

When the sisters ceased she said, “ Ah., 77ioiy it seems 
I am like Saint Athanase. I have the whole world 
against me. No one will give me any praise for morti- 
fication. But wait till the Day of Judgment comes ; you 
will find, my good sisters, that the fat people will be 
highest in heaven, because they never get praised or 
pitied in this life. I have an idea !” exclaimed Sister 
Genevieve, leaning forward ; “ the next Lent I take 
some — some” — she snapped her fingers impatiently at 
her inability to remember the word — “ how do you call 
that ?” 

“ Call what ?” inquired one of the sisters. 

“ Oh, it is just the same as a relation,” answered 


248 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


Sister Genevieve, trying in vain to recall the word she 
wanted. 

“ Father ?”* suggested the sister who had spoken 
before. 

“ No ! no !” replied Sister Genevieve. 

“ Mother, perhaps you mean ?” another sister ven- 
tured. 

“ No ! no !” Sister Genevieve again responded. 
“ No father, no mother ; you no think I can remember 
father — mother ?” 

“ Brother or sister do you mean ?” another nun in- 
quired, looking up from a tabernacle veil she was sew- 
ing. 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh !” exclaimed Sister Genevieve ; “ you 
English people are too stupid ; you do not know how 
to say things in your own language.” 

The nun who was sewing made another venture, 
which she felt would certainly end the difficulty. 

” The relation you mean is called in English ‘ cous- 
in.’ ” 

” Cousin !” responded Sister Genevieve contemptu- 
ously. ” Father — mother — brother — sister — cousin. 
You are all the same ; you are all wrong. I wish, my 
good sister, you would keep on sewing ; you are no 
more help than the rest.” 

The nuns laughed, and the sister began at the taber- 
nacle veil again. 

” Now I will explain,” Sister Genevieve said, and all 
listened in silence. “You say Sister Genevieve is so 
fat in Lent, she must eat too much.” 


PASSING SI/ADO H'S. 


249 


The sisters bowed their heads in acknowledgment. 

“ Well, next Lent I go to the apothicaire, and I say 
to him, ‘ Monsieur, I wish you to give me some medi- 
cine to make me thin.’ Now, how do you call that?” 

‘‘Oh, you mean anti-fat!” they all answered in 
chorus. 

‘‘ Oui^ oui !" Sister Genevieve exclaimed delightedly. 
‘‘ Now anty is a relation — no ? It is not a father, nor 
mother, nor sister, nor brother, nor cousin. So, Sister 
Genevieve knows more English than the English sis- 
ters.” 

It was while Sister Genevieve was enjoying her vic- 
tory that Mother Eunice walked into the garden, and 
after kneeling a moment in prayer at a little grotto, 
came over to the group to take Sister Genevieve away. 

‘‘ I have been speaking,” Mother Eunice began, when 
she and her assistant had seated themselves in the siS' 
ters’ common room, ‘‘ to that young girl, Agnes Crys- 
tal. She told me that she intended becoming a nun, 
but as yet had not made up her mind in regard to 
the particular order she would enter. I would like,” 
continued the Mother, running her rosary through her 
fingers, ‘‘ to have her join us. She is veiy pious and 
intelligent — two necessary qualifications for a good re 
ligious. It is true she seems somewhat delicate, but 
then” — there was a twinkle in the Mother’s eye as she 
spoke — ‘‘ it is the delicate sisters who do the most 
work; so Miss Crystal’s apparent weakness is a sort of 
pledge that she will be of great use to us.” 

Sister Genevieve smiled at the playful remark of her 


250 


PA SSTNG SHA D 0 IV S. 


superior, and answered, “ Yes, it is true, the delicate 
sisters work very much ; but who takes care of the deli- 
cate sisters when they get sick ?” 

“ You mean me, I suppose, because you nursed me 
last week when I was ill ?” 

“ No, no, ma bonne Mere^ I did not mean you alone ; 
you are not worse than the rest.” 

Mother Eunice leaned back in her chair and laughed 
heartily. ” I see it is no use to cross swords with you. 
I am always beaten. But, now, what I wish to say to 
you is, that I want you and all the sisters to start a 
novena to le bon Dieu to send us this young girl.” 

Sister Genevieve promised she would make an offer- 
ing of all her prayers for the next nine days for that 
particular intention. 

” But before you begin the novena,” the Mother re- 
marked protestingly, ‘‘ you ought to make an act of 
reparation for laughing at prayers last night. What 
was the matter with you ? I am sure you must have 
scandalized our young novice.” 

” Oh, ma Mere ! I am so sorry. I could not help it. 
You know Our Lord says, ‘The spirit, indeed, 4s will- 
ing, but the flesh is weak.’ Now all the sisters laughed 
at me the other day when I said that the lace for the 
altar was five-ty-five cents a yard.” 

Mother Eunice tried, but did not succeed in refrain- 
ing from smiling. 

” Ah !” exclaimed Sister Genevieve, ” I see that there 
is a good deal of human nature even in a Mother Supe- 
rior. If it is funny for the English sisters when I say 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


251 


five-ty-five, it is too funny for me when Sister Rosalie 
reads the prayers in French. I am sure the good Saint 
Francois de Sales himself would have to laugh, or maybe 
cry, when he would hear those prayers ; and. Mother, 
I am not yet a saint, I am only one big sinner t So 
you must forgive me.” 

The Superior smiled and answered, ” It is all right, 
only pray hard to le bon Dieu to send us that young girl 
to help us.” 

That evening a novena was started in the convent for 
the special intention of the Mother Superior. 

Gabrielle and Agnes sat for a long time enjoying the 
quiet and freshness of the park. 

” I’m beginning to feel an attraction for that little 
convent over there,” Agnes remarked, glancing across 
the street. ” Perhaps I may apply for admission to 
it.” 

” When would you think of entering ?” Gabrielle 
asked, with a slight tremor in her voice. 

Agnes noticed her tremulous voice and hastened to 
reassure her. 

” Not till I throw a slipper of rice after you and 
Jack.” 

Gabiielle made a half-hearted protest against so long 
a delay, but Agnes put her protest aside, saying she 
did not think that one ought to take a step for life 
without long consideration. 

The two girls had dropped their eyes while they were 
talking. Gabrielle was the first to look up, and as she 


252 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


did so she saw through the partly opened windows of 
the convent chapel the shadow of a nun. A moment 
later the Mother Superior of the convent came over to 
th® window and closed it. 

“ I wonder what has kept Mother Eunice up so late ?’ 
said Agnes in astonishment ; “ perhaps one of the nuns 
is ill.” 

If she could have looked through the ” storied win- 
dows” of the chapel, she would have seen Mother 
Eunice pause for a moment at the door, as she dipped 
her fingers in the holy-water font, and casting a last 
pleading glance at the golden door of the tabernacle, 
exclaim, “You will, inon Dieu^ direct that young girl 
to us, to help us nurse your poor sick and dying 
ones ?” 

A few moments later, the cry of a park policeman for 
all persons to leave the park startled the two girls, and 
almost simultaneously the clock on a neighboring church 
struck eleven. 

They hurried along the winding path until they 
leached Second Avenue, where they hailed a passing 
car. The great crowds which had filled the avenue when 
the girls walked up it were now gone, though the cafes 
were still brilliantly lighted and well filled. 

The only other occupants of the open car besides 
themselves were a father, mother, and four children, 
evidently returning fiom a picnic in the suburbs of the 
city. Their arms were filled with bunches of lilacs and 
wild grasses, the pleasant aroma of which the wind 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


253 


carried back to the girls, who sat in the rear of the 
car. 

Gabrielle buttoned her thin jacket about her 
throat to protect herself against the chill wind which 
blew through the car. She slipped her arm around 
her sister to keep warm, and her teeth chattered. 

“You are cold,” Agnes said, taking Gabrielle’ s hands 
between her own. 

“ Yes, a trifle.” 

“ Then throw my jacket over your shoulders.” She 
slipped off her jacket as she spoke. 

“ Oh, no !” Gabrielle protested ; “ you may get cold 
yourself.” 

“ There is no fear of that,” Agnes replied, at the 
same time throwing her jacket over her sister. “ It is 
not very chilly, but you have been so worried, that you 
are more susceptible to the cool breeze.” 

Gabrielle caught her hand and gave it a little squeeze 
of gratitude. 

“ You are always sacrificing yourself for me. I be- 
lieve you ought to be canonized after you die.” 

Agnes smiled. “ Perhaps if a war breaks out, and I 
go as a nun to the battle-field, I may get in front of the 
wrong end of a cannon, and then I shall be cannonized 
before I die.” 

Gabrielle laughed so loudly at this old joke, which 
she had never heard before, that the youngest of the 
children, a child in its mother’s arms, awoke and began 
to cry. The sleepy mother turned angrily around, and 


254 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


glaring at the two girls, exclaimed, “ Make your mouth 
shut!” 

Gabrielle subsided. 

No one hailed the car, and so it swung down the 
avenue very rapidly. Big drops of rain began to patter 
on the street, filling the air with the unpleasant odor of 
dry dust from the street. Two street-sweepers dashed 
by in a mad race, looking, as they galloped along, like 
Roman charioteers. 

A few moments later the two girls were walking along 
the street on which they lived. Everything was still 
save for the noise issuing from a basement in which a 
singing society was holding a rehearsal. 

Gabrielle and Agnes paused on the top of the steps 
leading to their house, and Agnes noted with satisfac- 
tion that Gabrielle took an interest in watching the 
singers. 

The men sat around a long table with steins of beer 
in front of them. They were in the middle of a drink- 
ing chorus, and as they thundered through it in jerks, 
one little man, who sang tenor, kept high and clear 
above the rest. When they came near the end of the 
song his voice distanced all others, and he rose from his 
seat in the struggle and pelted the ceiling with his 
metallic tones, reaching the end of the chorus in a won- 
derfully clear, ringing, high note. The dozen members 
of the coterie clapped their hands or beat on the table 
with the empty steins, and the president of the society, 
who was standing next to the tenor, almost drove his 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


255 


immense hand through the little man’s back by way of 
applause, sending him half-way across the table. 

But the little man did not mind the blow in the least, 
though for a few moments there was not much breath 
left in his body. Others had tried to hold that note, 
but no one had ever succeeded as he had done. It was 
a joy forever to him. 

He pulled himself together as best he could, and 
smiling at a young lad behind the bar, exclaimed in 
the tone of a conqueror, “ Fritz, fill up doze steins 
again !” 

Gabrielle enjoyed the scene so much that the smile 
had not left her face when she entered her mother’s 
rooms. 

“ Do you feel better. Gay ?” her mother asked, not- 
ing with great relief the happier look in her daughter’s 
eyes. 

“ Very much,” she answered. 

Agnes described to her father and mother the scene 
they had witnessed from the door-step. 

” Well, those Germans are a wonderfully peaceable 
people,” Mr. Crystal said when he had heard Agnes’s 
recital. ” You wouldn’t find a man who was born in 
the part of Ireland that I came from who would tolerate 
having his back nearly broken, even by way of applause, 
without returning the compliment. The Germans are 
certainly quiet and peaceable.” 

” The Germans quiet and peaceable !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Crystal. ” I don’t see how you can say that, when you 


256 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


know they keep us awake two nights every week in the 
warm weather with their everlasting shouting. If they 
could sing, I wouldn’t mind it so much ; but it is all a 
fiction about German singing societies being able to 
sing. Why, I will guarantee,” continued Mrs. Crystal 
as she warmed up to the subject, ” that I can go to any 
French village in Canada, and get the blacksmith, the 
cobbler, the tailor, and the carpenter, and with half of 
the rehearsals, they will sing far better than any German 
singing society in this neighborhood.” 

” Good !” exclaimed her husband, applauding with 
his hands ; ” that’s the most eloquent burst of oratory 
I have heard from you since the day we were mar^ 
ried.” 

Mrs. Crystal smiled at his words and the recollections 
they brought back. 

” Well, it’s all true,” she responded. 

But before admitting such a severe condemnation of 
the singing societies it must be kept in mind that these 
societies made Mrs. Crystal, a naturally poor sleeper, 
lose considerable sleep. 

Some time after the other members of the Crystal 
family had retired for the night Gabrielle slipped quietly 
out of her room in search of writing materials. When 
she found them she sat down and began a letter to 
John Fulton. She was not conscious of time as her pen 
sped over the paper, until she noticed a change of light 
in the room. It was the break of day. The first faint 
streaks of sunlight were visible in the sky as she looked 
out of the window. She hastily sealed the long letter, 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


257 


which was full of encouragement and affection, and 
went to bed. The daylight grew stronger in the 
room, and the sunlight began to shine again in her own 
life. 


258 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“ Stone walls do not a prison makCy 
Nor iron bars a cage ; 


Minds innocent a7id quiet take 
That for an her7nitage." 


ABRIELLE’S letter to John Fulton in prison was 



an inspiration. It filled him full of new strength 
and courage, and his answer heartened her. She sat 
for her picture in the dress she had worn for the first 
time the night that he was arrested. 

Mr. Crystal took the picture with him when he went 
to visit John Fulton. Gabrielle, too, longed to go to 
see her lover, but he would not hear of it. He wrote 
that he did not want her to have any such recollections 
in her after-life. 

The days slipped along until the month of June had 
begun. The last few days of May were wet and soft, 
but on the first day of June the sun broke over the city 
in a golden flood, freshening the little window and fire- 
escape gardens and the grass and flowers in the back 
yards, and filling the hearts of all with gladness. 

As early as nine o'clock in the morning of the first 
day of June a brass band was playing “ Marguerite” in 
one of the yards visible from the rear windows of the 
house in which the Crystals lived, 


PASSING SI/ADOIVS. 


259 


At the first blare of brazen notes the whole neighbor- 
hood seemed to come to life. One looking out on the 
scene and noticing the sudden change would have im- 
agined that somebody must have pressed a button and 
set every living thing in motion. Children crowded 
into the yards, climbed the fences and out-houses, and 
filled the fire-escapes. Girls danced in pairs, and 
danced with wonderful grace. They joined hands and 
pirouetted about, separated and danced alone, came 
together again, holding their hands high above their 
heads, moved forward slowly and backward, and ended 
in a final rush half-way down the yard. Those who did 
not have partners caught up brooms, and several whirled 
around with cats and kittens in their arms. All the 
windows had occupants in them. Old men and women, 
who could not walk, were wheeled to the windows to 
look out on the lively scene. Teresa, the little Italian 
girl, who was fast dying of consumption, sat pillowed 
in a chair looking with a smile on the healthier children 
in the yard below. Her eyes shone with gladness. She 
was beyond the stage of her sickness when such scenes 
could make her unhappy. She longed to die. 

“ Mamma,” she said to her mother standing by her, 
” how nice God must have it in heaven for little chil- 
dren, when they can be so happy here !” 

She fell into a fit of laughing, caused by the sight of 
two fat boys in the yard below, who were awkwardly 
trying to imitate the girls in dancing. The laughing 
brought on a cough, and when she raised her handker- 
chief to her mouth there was a ciimson stain upon it. 


26 o 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


She hastily concealed the handkerchief in the folds of 
her dress, and smiled again. Her mother always cried 
when the blood came. 

The band played all the popular airs, pausing once 
while the collection was being taken up. When the hat 
came back the bottom of it was well lined with pennies, 
and a few nickels peeped through the copper lining. 
As a sign of gratitude for the generous offering they 
had received, one half sang “ The Fisher Maiden,” in 
German, while the other half accompanied them. 

Agnes Crystal stopped doing her housework and came 
over to the window to watch the happy children. 

She had not been looking out on the interesting scene 
many moments when the ringing of the bell called her 
away. 

On opening the door she was greeted by the young 
lad whose dying mother had begged Agnes to watch 
over him. 

” Good-morning, Miss Crystal,” he said, twirling his 
hat in his hand in an embarrassed way and hitching up 
his trousers. 

Agnes Crystal’s face brightened and showed how glad 
she was to see him, as she reached out her hand and 
replied, ” Good-morning, Eddie ; it seems an age since 
I last saw you.” She eyed him critically for a moment, 
and then asked, ” Are you working still ?” 

“I was until this week,” he answered; “but I’ve 
been laid off until next month, as the boss ain’t got 
anything for me to do.” 

“ You had better come upstairs and have a cup of 


PASSING SI/ADOIVS. 


261 


coffee,” she said, inviting him into the hallviray and 
closing the door. 

” No, thanks,” he answered ; ” I just dropped in to 
ask you to do me a favor.” 

She saw from his nervous manner that he would not 
enjoy the coffee, and so she very sensibly did not insist 
on his accepting the invitation. 

” What is the favor you want ?” she queried. 

” I was thinking of asking you to say a prayer for 
me. I’m trying to do something, and I ain’t got any 
luck ; so I says to myself last night that I’d queer the 
whole thing if my luck didn’t change, and that’s why 
I came to see you.” 

” Certainly I’ll pray for you,” Agnes responded ; 
“you aie looking for work, I suppose, and can’t find 
it ?” 

” Oh, no,” he exclaimed ; ” it ain’t about work. I 
don’t want you to pray for me to get work.” 

He spoke in an anxious way, as if afraid she might 
waste her prayers on a wrong intention. 

” But you would like to get work, wouldn’t you ?” 
Agnes asked. 

” No ; it’s not work that’s troubling me now,” he an- 
swered. ” It’s something better than work. I’ll tell it 
to you later.” 

He excused himself for calling her downstairs, and 
started to go, but she stopped him. 

” By the way, were you at church last Sunday ? 
You know your mother asked me to keep a watch over 
you.” 


262 


PASSING SNA no IV S, 


“ Sure I was there,” he answered, “ and I heard you 
singing in the choir ; ain’t that right ?” 

Agnes remembered that she had sung a solo on the 
previous Sunday, and she dismissed him in satisfaction. 

He hastened down the steps, saying to himself, “ That 
7i'as a close call. I’m glad she didn’t ask about the 
Sunday before. I couldn’t tell her a lie, and I’d hate 
to say I wasn’t there.” 

He walked along slowly for a few moments, and then 
remarked to himself, half audibly, ” The whole thing is, 
that I’ve got to hunt up a steady job, and do the right 
thing ; but I can’t until I find out who it was that took 
those letters for which young Fulton is doing time up 
the river.” 

When the boy left Agnes he went directly to the 
house in which he lived with his aunt. Which was a few 
streets away. He climbed the rickety stairs attached 
to the back of the house on the outside. 

” Say, auntie,” he said, as soon as he entered, ” I 
want you to do me a favor.” 

His aunt, who was leaning over a washtub, paused in 
her work, and answered a little impatiently, ” Did I 
iver see you betther ? Ye does be always askin’ favors. 
It’s the loan of a quarter ye wants, maybe ?” 

” Naw,” he drawled, his feelings a little hurt ; ” I 
don’t want nothin’.” 

” Well, if ye don’t want nothing, what is it ye want ?” 

” It’s only a little favor I want, see ? You know that 
fellow Mackey that lives in here,” he said, pointing to 
the rooms adjoining. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


263 


“ Do I know him ? To be coorse I do ; and if I wasn’t 
an ould woman I’d break ivery bone in his body, the 
miserable spalpeen. Can ye iver think what he did to 
me the other day ? I was carrying a big pail of ashes 
down the stairs, whin he came behind me and says, 
says he, ‘ Hurry up ! ’ ‘ Take your time,’ says I, ‘ and 

have respect for an ould woman.’ And wid that, what 
does he do but give the pail a kick with his dirty fut 
and sind the ashes all over the stairs, the blackguard !” 

“ He did !” Eddie exclaimed indignantly, clenching 
his fists ; “ and why didn’ t you send for me ? I’d made 
him eat it all up. You were slow, auntie, you didn’t 
let me know about it.” 

His aunt looked at him for a few moments, and then 
asked, ” And what could ye do aginst a man ?” 

He drew himself up and said, with great dignity, ” I 
have friends, see ?” 

The incident narrated by his aunt was a welcome bit 
of news to the boy, as he knew it would help his case. 

” Now about the favor,” he began again, as he saw his 
aunt recommencing her work at the washtub. ” I’ll tell 
you what I want to do. I want to break a hole through 
this wall, so that I can listen to what is said in those 
rooms. ” 

” Och, musha ? what will ye want to be doing nixt ?” 
his aunt exclaimed in horror. ” Ye’ll be after breaking 
no holes in these walls, Eddie Hayes, and have the ajint 
cornin’ ’round the foorst of the month and raisin’ the 
rint becaze of the ruination of the property.” 

Eddie did not expect to gain the permission he sought 


264 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


without a struggle, and so he began to bring forth as 
eloquently as he could all his arguments. He was sure 
that Mackey, who lived in the adjoining rooms with his 
mother, was the thief who stole the letters for which 
John Fulton was in prison. He came in a very simple 
way upon enough evidence to satisfy his own mind 
that Mackey was the thief. He had gone to the cellar to 
bring up coal one day, and noticed a large pile of new 
wood there. He inquired about it from his aunt when 
he came upstairs, and she told him that Mrs. Mackey 
had been scrubbing up at the post-office, and that they 
had let her son take away all the wood that was left 
over, after the repairs in the building had been made. 
This information did not interest him very much ; but 
when she added that Mrs. Mackey had been very fortu- 
nate in getting the work, as the head man in the post- 
office had made her a present of a new bed and a new 
ice-box, he was a little surprised. He inquired of his 
aunt when Mrs. Mackey had been working at the post- 
office, and when she told him the time, and he found 
that it was the very week that the letters had been 
stolen, he was startled. 

Mackey had gone to the post-office several evenings 
to carry home wood. That was certain, as Eddie’s 
aunt had met him with the load of wood on his return. 
Shortly afterward there was a new ice-box and a new 
bed brought into the Mackey family. 

As soon as he had received this information, the boy 
had made up his mind what he would do. He had been 
playing the part of the amateur detective for over a 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


265 


week when he had called on Agnes Crystal to ask her 
to pray for his good luck. 

He began by having a conipanion try to draw Mackey 
out on the question of the stolen letters, but that plan 
produced nothing. In several other attempts he had 
also failed. He had now hit on what he judged to be 
a brilliant way to procure the much-desired evidence, 
and he finally convinced his aunt that no harm would 
be done by breaking a hole in the wall, as it could be 
concealed by hanging a few old dresses over it, and 
before the agent would come to collect the rent he 
promised to get a friend who was a plasterer to fix 
the wall and make it like new again. 

The hole was consequently dug in the wall, and by 
leaning against the thin plaster which separated the 
rooms, he could readily hear every word uttered in the 
next apartment. The work of eavesdropping was con- 
fined to the night, as the occupants of the room were 
out during the day. 

The boy listened patiently for several evenings, until 
his neck was stiff and sore, but heard nothing. In a 
few days the agent would make his visit. 

“ It’s all nonsinse,” his aunt said one night, as he 
took his accustomed place at the hole in the wall, “ to 
be flustherin’ around there lis’nin’ to those crathurs 
discoorsin’. Sure ye’ll niver be bearin’ anything at 
all, at all.” 

Just then Eddie heard Mackey remark that he wanted 
the pail, as he was going out to get some beer and 
bologna. 


266 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


This encouraged the detective, and he quieted his 
aunt by telling her that perhaps when Mackey and his 
mother got eating and drinking they might begin to 
talk about past things. 

When Eddie heard Mackey come up the stairs again, 
he at once resumed his position at the wall. 

The two occupants of the room were soon seated in 
front of a table eating bologna sandwiches and drink- 
ing long draughts of the beer. As Mackey took a drink 
he made a remark which neither his own mother nor 
Eddie understood, as his mouth was filled with rye 
bread and bologna. His mother asked him what he 
had said, and after swallowing the huge mouthful, he 
leaned back in his chair, and patting his breast with 
evident satisfaction, remarked for the second time, “ I 
wish I could catch another letter with a hundred in 
it.” 

If a cannon-ball had struck the young detective, the 
effect could hardly have been more instantaneous. He 
rolled off the chair in his excitement, and turned a com- 
plete somersault with joy. 

” Wirra ! wirra ! what’s the matter wid ye now?” 

o 

exclaimed his frightened aunt. 

” He stole the letter !” Eddie exclaimed in a whisper, 
pointing to the next room. 

” Arra musha. I’m glad it’s no worse nor that ! I 
thought it was a stroke of ’perplexy ye had been after 
havin’,” his aunt answered, apparently much relieved. 

” Hush !” exclaimed the anxious boy, as he crept 
back to the hole in the wall in time to hear Mackey re- 


PASSING SNA DO tvs. 


267 


mark, “ Guess it must have been that old hag falling 
out of bed.” 

Eddie understood that the words ” old hag” were in- 
tended to describe his aunt, and he saved that up 
against his enemy. 

He listened for another hour, and heard nothing. He 
made a bed for himself that night on the floor of his 
aunt’s kitchen, and dreamt that he was a mounted 
policeman, and that a horse had run away with a car- 
riage in which Agnes Crystal was sitting. He followed 
the wild animal over long roads, .up hill and down dale, 
until he saw it making with all speed for a frightful 
precipice. Then he lashed his horse’s flanks and 
stopped the runaway just as it reached the brink. The 
violence of his dream awoke him, and instead of finding 
his hand on the runaway’s bridle, he saw to his dismay 
that he had reached beyond his bed and upset a pail of 
drinking water over himself. 

It was not yet five o’clock, though through the open 
windows he could see the sun gilding a weather-vane 
on a high factory in the next street. He sat up in bed, 
a little disappointed at first when he realized that he 
had not stopped the runaway — a thing just in his line — 
but his heart beat strong within him as he remembered 
that he had found the real thief, and that the chance to 
do Agnes Crystal a favor, which would have cheered the 
heart of his old mother, had come to him at last. 

His first thought after rising was to obliterate all 
traces of the water which he had upset, so that his aunt 
would have no cause for anger. It bothered him not a 


268 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


little to think that perhaps some of the water might 
have found its way through the floor, and soiled the 
ceiling in the room below. Then what a tenement- 
house quarrel there would be ! At another time the 
humor of such strife would have appealed strongly to 
him, but at present he was engaged in a very serious 
business, and anxious to offend his aunt as little as pos- 
sible. 

After he had eaten his breakfast and heard no com- 
plaint from the people below, he hunted up his fishing 
tackle, and on finding*it, announced that he might be 
expected home at supper-time with a mess of fish. He 
stopped on the way to the river to buy a number of 
sand-worms for bait. Then he continued walking until 
he reached a favorite fishing spot, just opposite the 
lower end of Blackwell’s Island. 

All the bright summer day he sat on the long dock 
fishing and thinking. Whenever he would hook an eel, 
he would chuckle to himself and exclaim, “ Got you 
this time, Mackey, you slippery wriggler.” 

A few idlers came and watched him. Some small 
boys who had been swimming under the dock also 
paid their respects to him, but he read what he 
called ” the riot act” to them. He told them that they 
could only remain provided they kept perfectly quiet, 
and he gave as a reason that eels never bite well on 
Thursday, because they know Friday is a fish day. 

The boys, who knew him, found him particularly un- 
attractive that day, and therefore left him, to go back 
under the dock to take their fifth or sixth swim. 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


269 


The river was alive with craft all the day. Saucy 
little tugs ran in and out among the wharves, tugging 
laboriously in front of huge scows and canal-boats. 
Barges with excursion parties sailed up the river, the 
strains of music drifting over the water to Eddie’s ears. 
Now and then the shining steam-yacht of one of the 
city’s millionaires cut through the blue water like a 
sea-gull through the air. 

The morning passed away, and the prisoners on 
Blackwell’s Island came back to the penitentiary for 
dinner, their white suits shining in the bright sun- 
shine which flooded the green slopes that served as 
a background. Before he realized it, Eddie saw the 
first one of the SoUnd steamers making its way up the 
middle of the river. In a little while others followed, 
their decks black with passengers. It was growing 
late, but he found himself so happy sitting alone, 
watching the boats on the river and the ebbing tide, 
and listening to the shouts of the small boys in swim- 
ming as the huge rollers from the steamers washed 
over them, that it seemed impossible for him to start 
for home. 

At last he had come, after much deliberation, to a 
conclusion in regard to his manner of acting toward 
Mackey. To begin with, Mackey had brought untold 
misery on Gabrielle Crystal, and therefore on Agnes 
herself. He had kicked a pail of ashes over the boy’s 
old aunt, and was, moreover, the occasion of making him 
lose several nights in listening for information at the 
hole in the wall. Before then putting the police on the 


270 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


track of the real post-office thief, Eddie concluded that 
he would first take the law into his own hands. 

The sun disappearing in the west had colored with 
patches of red the glass in the windows of the houses 
and factories over the river, and mothers with sick 
babies had begun to stray down to the dock in the cool 
of the evening for a breath of air, before he gathered up 
his tackle and fish and started home. 

The large mess of fish was compensation to his aunt 
for the lateness of the supper. 

After the evening meal was over, Eddie took up his 
station once more at the hole in the wall. After 
listening for some time he heard the rattling of a tin 
can, which told him that Mackey was going for a pint 
of beer. 

The boy then put on his hat and slipped quietly out 
of the room and down the stairs. A friend of his was 
hiding in the alley until Mackey would make his ap- 
pearance. 

The friend, as Mackey came along, began to sing m 
a maudlin way and walked along the dark alley, 
swinging from side to side like a drunken man. When 
he came near to Mackey he gave himself a sudden 
pitch and stumbled into him, knocking the empty can 
to the pavement. 

“ Why don’t you look where you’re going, you fool ?” 
Mackey exclaimed. 

He may have intended to say more, but the other was 
too quick for him. They clinched and swayed to and 
fro for a moment, but it was an unequal battle, and 


PASSING SI/ADO tvs. 


271 


when Mackey gathered himself together, he was a badly 
punished man. He made his way back to the house, 
and went to bed. 

The next morning Eddie walked up to the sergeant 
at his desk in the police station, and asked if Detective 
Whalen was in. The sergeant rang for the detective, 
who came into the room, greeting the boy familiarly. 

“ Say, detective,” Eddie began, ” I’ve got a daisy 
case for you.” 

The detective drew up a couple of chairs, and the 
two seated themselves. 

” You recollect that young man named Fulton who is 
doing time for stealing from the post-office ? Well, he’s 
innocent of that robbery.” 

The detective looked at him in surprise and doubt. 

” Sure ! He never touched a cent of that money. I 
know the thief, for I’ve heard him say he stole the 
letter.” 

The detective grew still more interested, and asked 
for proofs. 

” It will be the prettiest piece of work that’s been 
done in this ward in many a day. You’ll get a pro- 
motion sure ! All the newspapers will be full of it — 
‘ Innocent man sent to Sing Sing ! Great work by De- 
tective Whalen ! ’ See ?” 

A smile lit up the detective’s face at the enthusiasm 
of his informant, and he once more asked for a state- 
ment of the case. 

The boy ran over all the work he had done and the 
inforination he had gathered. The detective was thor- 


272 


PASSING SNADOPVS. 


oughly satisfied, and asked him not to mention the mat- 
ter to any one else. 

That evening, instead of Eddie being at his accus- 
tomed place. Detective Whalen was on watch. Mackey 
was asleep when the detective began to listen, but a 
little while afterward he awoke, groaning with pain be- 
cause of the drubbing he had received the night before. 

“ Oh !” he exclaimed to his mother, “ wait till I get 
well ! ril never let up till I put that fellow in a hole. 
I’ll fix him for doing me up, even if I have to go to 
prison for it.” 

His mother, with a worried look on her face, came 
over to his side and smoothed the pillows under his 
aching head. 

” I’m afraid,” she answered, ” that that money will 
never bring us any luck. It’s nothing but trouble we’ve 
been having since young Fulton went to jail,” 

Mackey turned over angrily in the bed and cried, 
” What’s his going to prison got to do with my fight ? 
It ain’t my fault Fulton was sent up the river. It 
wasn’t me, it was that crazy jury that did it.” 

His mother did not pursue the subject any further, 
and Mackey turned again toward the wall, moaning 
with pain. 

The detective made a few hurried notes in a small 
book, and then coolly rose from his chair and remarked 
to the boy, ” I have him.” 

” Did you hear anything ?” Eddie asked. 

” Everything,” the detective answered. 

” Well, you kept pretty quiet about it.” 


/\4 SS/.VG SHA D 0 IV S. 


273 


The detective smiled and said, “ This may be the 
making of me, Eddie ; and if it is, I won’t forget 
you.” 

” Don’t mention it,” the boy replied. 


274 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ Hath she not then for pains afid fears. 

The day of woe, the watchficl night. 

For all her sorrow, all her tears, 

A?t over-payme7it of delight?" 

T he evening after Mackey had his onesided en- 
counter in the alley, Gabrielle Crystal was stand- 
ing at one of the windows of her home looking out into 
the night. She watched the big drops of rain splash- 
ing in a little lake of water on the opposite side of 
the street. Big tears, big as the rain-drops, slowly 
formed and filled her eyes and then rolled down her 
cheeks. Save for one or two children who ran through 
the rain to a drug-store on the corner, there was little 
excitement in the street. The Italian vender’s stand 
was bright, but deserted. A policeman in a rubber 
coat came along, trying now and then the doors of the 
closed shops and peering inside. 

In the stillness she could hear the voices of a group 
of lads who were huddled together in a covered wagon 
singing, 

“ All merry boyish comrades 
Kind recollections bring, 

All seated there in Duffy’s cart, 

On summer nights to sing.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


275 


Then came the admonition of the policeman, “ Don’t 
make so much noise or I’ll have to chase you.” 

Gabrielle had made her great act of reconciliation to 
her sorrow the night she had been convinced by her 
sister’s arguments that though John Fulton was in 
prison, there was still the hope left of happier days. 
But sometimes the picture of her lover in jail would rise 
up before her, and the wound would open again. 

Often when sailing up the East River she had seen 
the prisoners marching along in lock-step, and a dull 
pain struck her heart as she thought of John Fulton in 
the striped prison suit. 

While she was standing at the window thinking of 
these things her father entered the room softly, and 
came over to her side. 

From the time that the trouble began he had said 
very little to her, leaving the work of consoling her to 
his wife and Agnes. But Gabrielle understood from 
the way that he looked at her at times how much he 
felt for her. 

” What’s the matter. Gay, crying ?” he asked gently, 
as he laid his hand on her shoulder. 

She started a little with a nervous fear, not having 
heard him enter the room. Then the tears came 
faster. 

” You must try not to grow so despondent. Put 
your trust in God, for, as the Scripture says, ‘ He tem- 
pers the wind to the shorn lamb.’ ” Mr. Crystal, like 
a great many others, invariably credited to Scripture 
Laurence Sterne’s famous line. 


276 


PASSING SNA DO IV S. 


Gabrielle ceased her crying and dried her eyes. 

“ For a long time I have been wanting, Gay, to tell 
you something, but I am afraid that I have not had the 
courage to do so. Perhaps I had better tell you now, 
and make my mind easier.” 

Gabrielle looked at him in wonder, but did not under- 
stand. 

Her father remained silent for a few moments, and 
then slowly began. ” It was near the end of the first 
year of my married life, just after you were born. The 
nurse who was attending your mother gave her a cold 
drink, which brought on a chill. When the doctor 
came he said that pneumonia had set in, and that he 
feared it would end fatally. I consulted with your 
mother, and then went for a priest. 

” I remember the night very well, as it was the bit- 
terest winter’s night New York had felt for many a 
year. I made my way to the Rectory, and a young 
priest answered my summons. 

” When he had come to the house I watched him 
make his preparations to give the last sacraments to 
your mother, and when I saw that he was about to give 
her Extreme Unction, I lost hope entirely. In my an- 
guish I caught hold of his hand to restrain him. 

He turned toward me in surprise and inquired, 
‘ What’s the matter ? ’ ‘ Does that mean it is all over ? ’ 

I asked. ‘ Not necessarily,’ he answered, ‘ but your 
wife is very ill, and I hardly think that she can recover 
now.’ My courage failed me then, and I broke down. 
The priest laid aside the little gold box containing the 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


277 


oil, and came over to me. ‘ I was only ordained a few 
days ago,’ he said, resting his hand on my shoulder, 

‘ and this is my first sick call. Perhaps if we kneel — a 
young priest and a young father — and pray together, 
God will hear our prayers.’ So we knelt down, and 
while we prayed a strange idea came into my mind. 
I thought that if I would make a great sacrifice your 
mother might be more certainly spared. I had you in 
my arms at the time, and as I prayed I held you up and 
offered you to God if He would spare your mother.” 

Gabrielle drew back in astonishment at the strange 
news. 

” I have told you now,” her father continued, ” a 
thing that has been on my mind for many a day. Per- 
haps I am the one who is responsible for this suffering 
which has fallen upon you.” 

She noticed the look of pain in his eyes, and hastened 
to reassure him. 

” Oh, put such queer ideas out of your mind ! Even 
if there was anything in what you say, don’t you think 
I would be willing to suffer all I have suffered for 
mamma’s sake ?” 

” It’s been a heavy blow to you,” he answered. 

” Yes,” she admitted ; ” but I am getting reconciled 
tOv it. Sometimes, like to-night, I cry a little, but I 
don’t despair any more.” 

” You think, then, that it will not prove too much for 
you to bear ?” he asked doubtfully. 

” No, not at all,” she answered. ” I am keeping 
strong for Jack’s sake.” 


278 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


She smiled at him to convince him, and then she took 
his arm and they went through the rooms to where Mrs. 
Crystal and Agnes were sitting. 

The rain continued during that night and the next 
day. The asphalt pavement shone like ebony, and the 
streets were as quiet as the streets of a village. 

Eddie Hayes had been instructed by the detective not 
to speak to anybody concerning the information they 
had gained at the hole in the wall. 

But the boy was anxious to lift a great sorrow from 
Agnes Crystal’s family, so he found it impossible to 
keep the matter secret ; besides he knew that whatever 
he told them would be safe. 

As soon, therefore, as he was able to make a visit to 
the Crystals he did so. 

Gabrielle had gone off to work before he arrived. 
Agnes answered the door-bell. 

“ Good-morning, Miss Crystal,” he began, doffing his 
old straw hat and smiling. 

” Good-morning, Eddie,” Agnes answered, smiling 
back, ” you look unusually happy. Did you find steady 
work ?” 

” Naw, ” he replied ; ” steady work would never 

make me very happy. It’s a good sight better. Could 
I go upstairs and tell you about it?” he asked diffi- 
dently. 

” Certainly ; I would have invited you before, only 
I can never get you to come further than the hall- 
door.” 

Agnes led the way upstairs and ushered him into the 


PASSING SNADOIVS. 


279 


parlor. He entered, and sat down gingerly on the end 
of a chair. 

“ Now tell me what makes you so happy and satis- 
fied,” she said, drawing up her chair near to his. 

” It’s about that money that was stolen,” he began 
slowly. ” You never believed it was young Fulton, 
what’s engaged to your sister, who stole it, did you ?” 

” No ; never for an instant !” 

” Well, I did for a while, and I hated him for bring- 
ing trouble on you and your folks. But lately I began 
to suspect it was somebody else, so I started hunting 
clews, and that’s why I came that day to ask you to 
pray for me.” 

Agnes Crystal’s eyes grew large and her breath came 
quickly. For a moment she let the thought that Eddie 
had found the real thief take possession of her. Then 
she crushed that hope out of her heart, lest she might 
be bitterly disappointed. Feigning great coolness, 
though the spots of red which glowed in her cheeks 
told another tale, she asked him what information he 
had gained. 

“'Fine,” he answered. ” I worked first on the case 
alone, and after that I handed it over to a detective ; 
and. Miss Crystal, as sure as we’re sitting here, I know 
the real thief.” 

Agnes’s face blanched as she realized what his words 
meant. The news was almost too good to be true, and 
yet she felt that he would not make such a statement if 
there was not something to back up his words. 

” You’re not speaking too quickly, Eddie, are you ?” 


28 o 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


she asked, her voice trembling. “ Remember, we have 
suffered terribly from this trouble, and if my sister’s 
hopes are raised and then crushed it may break her 
heart, you know.” 

” I tell you. Miss Crystal, as sure as my name is 
Eddie Hayes, the man that stole those letters will be in 
the Tombs to-night.” 

After making this foicible statement he related all 
that had happened, and Agnes was convinced that he 
had done a splendid piece of work. 

Mrs. Crystal, who had been out marketing, came in, 
and Eddie had to tell the story over again to her. She 
burst into tears before he had finished. 

” Agnes,” she exclaimed, ” this will be like heaven 
to Gay !” 

The boy was anxious to depart, so as to hear more 
news from the detective 

” If you think you have been under any obligations 
to me for whatever little things I may have done for your 
mother,” said Agnes, ” you have paid me back a hun- 
dred times. I’ll never forget it, Eddie, as long as I live.” 

” Oh, don’t mention it,” he said, growing confused 
at her enthusiasm ; ‘‘ only for my old aunt letting me 
break a hole in the wall, I couldn’t have done it. As 
soon as I hear more I’ll come and tell you.” 

” Do, like a good fellow ; we are awfully anxious,” 
said Mrs. Crystal. 

Detective Whalen proceeded on a course of action by 
which his work would be so thorough as to admit of no 


9 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


281 


defect, and thus gain for himself the applause of his 
superior officers. Here was a case that the newspapers 
would make a good deal of when the facts came to 
light, and if it was well managed, instead of being an 
ordinary ward detective, Mr. Whalen would have gold 
bands on his cap and sleeves. 

In the afternoon of the same day that Eddie Hayes 
brought the good news to the Crystals, the detective, 
who had followed Mackey’s mother through the streets, 
stepped up to her and asked her to accompany him to 
the police station. 

Her face grew pale as she inquired the reason. 

“ Oh, it’s only a few questions the captain wants to 
put to you. There was a fight in the alley leading to 
your house the other evening, and your son was injured ; 
isn’t that so ?” 

Mackey’s mother took courage on hearing this, and 
answered, “ Yes ; there was a drunken loafer stumbled 
into my boy, and when my boy told him to be more 
careful, the villain beat him so badly that he was laid 
up sick in bed.” 

” Well,” said the detective, ” we are anxious to find 
out more about that fight, so please come with me.” 

Mrs. Mackey felt relieved, and gladly enough accom- 
panied the detective. When they arrived at the police 
station he ushered her into a private room, and the cap- 
tain followed them and clicked the lock after him. 

” Take a seat,” said the captain, bowing her into a 
chair. ‘‘Your son,” he began, his face assuming a 
look of great severity, ‘‘ has admitted that it was he 


282 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


who stole the letter for which a young man by the name 
of John Fulton was sent to prison.” 

The next moment he turned to the detective and said, 
in a gentle tone, ” Go outside and get the bottle of 
smelling-salts which is on my desk,” 

He then rose from his chair and went over and lifted 
up the pale face of the woman, who had fainted almost 
before his sentence was completed. When the salts 
were brought he placed the open bottle to her nostrils, 
and tenderly brushed back the gray hairs from her 
face. He knew his work was done. It was a hard way 
to do it, but it was a sure one. The smelling-salts soon 
revived the fainting woman, and she asked, as her star- 
ing eyes rested on the officers, ” Where am I ? What’s 
the matter ?” 

” Nothing,” answered the captain, ” you have only 
fainted. Come over here to the sofa and lie down, and 
you will be all right in a moment.” 

The two men helped her from the chair to a leather 
lounge. The captain pressed a button just at the head 
of the lounge, and in a moment a matron appeared. 

‘‘ Take care of this woman, and when you think she 
is fully recovered come and tell me, and I will see her 
again.” 

Then he went out to his desk and disposed of a new 
case which had just come in. 

After about ten minutes the matron appeared at the 
door and signalled him. He and the detective went 
into the room. 

” I am sorry,” the captain began, ” that my words 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


283 


made you faint. We don’t suspect you of having had 
anything to do with that letter,” he continued, taking 
the fainting spell as an admission of all. ” Your son 
has acknowledged that he is the thief, and you are only 
to be held as a witness. You did not urge him to steal 
the letter, did you ?” asked the captain, innocently. 

” No, no !” she answered ; ” I did not know he took 
it until he got home.” 

The captain nodded to the detective to intimate that 
they had all the evidence needed. Then, turning to the 
woman, he said, ” I will call the matron again, and if 
there is anything you need, she will get it for you.” 

The detective’s next move was to find Mackey. He 
searched for him for a time, but not finding him, con- 
cluded to wait till evening. 

Just at six o’clock the detective leisurely made his 
way to the house in which Mackey lived. He climbed 
the rickety stairs and knocked at the door. Mackey 
had just come home, and was washing his face in a 
basin of water which he had brought in from a pump in 
the hallway. He was scrambling for a towel with his 
eyes full of soapy water when the detective knocked, 
and he growled out, ‘‘ Come in !” As soon as he looked 
up and saw the officer he lost courage for an instant, 
but the next moment he recovered himself and remarked 
cheerily, ‘‘ Good-evening, detective.” 

“The captain wants to see you,” the detective said 
quietly. ” Get on your coat and come along.” 

” Wants to see me ?” Mackey asked, in surprise. 
” What for ?” 


284 


PASSING SNA DO tvs. 


“ He has a few questions to put to you,” replied the 
officer. 

Mackey had done more than steal letters from John 
Fulton’s coat, and he hurriedly went over in his mind 
the number of different offences he had committed. 

” Does the captain think I know anything about that 
Jerseyman that was robbed in Blucher’s concert gar- 
den ? If he does, he’s mistaken. I wasn’t over five 
minutes in the place that night.” 

There had been a robbery, and the man who had lost 
his money was making a time about it, so the police 
were anxious to trap the thief. 

” The captain just told me that he wanted to see 
you,” the detective replied. ” When you get to the 
station-house he will tell you why.” 

Mackey sullenly combed his hair and put on his coat 
and hat. Then he accompanied the detective down the 
stairs. He was thoroughly frightened. It was the sec- 
ond time he had been arrested. The first time by 
clever lying he had succeeded in getting free with a 
reprimand. 

As he and the detective were making the turn on the 
last flight of stairs, Mackey exclaimed, ” Oh, I forgot to 
lock the door, and there’s five dollars belonging to my 
mother on the bureau ! It may be stolen if I don’t get 
it.” 

‘‘All right, go upstairs again,” said the detective, 
and as Mackey started, the detective followed him. 

‘‘ You needn’t bother coming up. I’ll be back in a 
minute.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 285 

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” replied the officer; “go 
ahead,” 

This little game was spoiled, but Mackey was a man 
of resources. He had only gone up a few steps when 
he turned to the detective, and handing him the key, 
said, “ There’s no use in both of us making the trip. 
If you’ll bring me the five dollars, I will sit here and 
wait for you,” and he prepared to seat himself on the 
stairs. 

The detective took a pair of handcuffs out of his 
pocket, and reaching down, slipped them around 
Mackey’s wrist. 

“You might give me a chase,” explained the officer, 
“ if I didn’t take this precaution, and the evening is 
rather warm for running.” 

Mackey turned pale and growled out angrily, “ Take 
off those things. What have I done to be handcuffed ?” 

“ Come along,” was the detective’s reply. 

“ No, I won’t, while you keep that cuff on me. Do 
you think I want people to imagine that I am a thief, 
going that way through the streets ?” 

The detective gave a twist to the little pieces of ebony 
wood, and Mackey rose with a cry of pain. The officer 
was angry, and as soon as Mackey realized this, he 
meekly slipped his handcuffed hand into his pocket, 
and walked quietly down the stairs. 

On coming to the door, the detective opened it and 
started ahead. Mackey was just inside the threshold, 
when suddenly he slammed the door, catching the de- 
tective’s fingers between it and the jamb. 


286 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


The act was so unexpected and the pain so great 
that the prisoner had no difficulty in pulling the hand- 
cuff from the officer and locking the door on the in- 
side. 

In a moment he was up the few flights of stairs and 
out on the stairway at the back of the house. On the 
level with the top floor was a long bridge in mid-air 
leading to a factory in an adjoining street. He made 
his way over this bridge, until he came to the factory. 
He had no trouble in sliding down an iron pipe which 
ran from the roof to the ground below. By this time he 
was out of reach of the detective. He then scaled sev- 
eral low fences, which brought him to a rear house, 
through which he made his way, knocking down a child 
in his rush for liberty. There was only one dark alley 
between him and the street, and he hastened through 
it. He had nearly reached the end, when suddenly he 
pitched forward and fell on his face. 

For several moments he lay stunned. Then grad- 
ually he regained consciousness. On trying to raise him- 
self he found his wrists pinioned and a small boy sitting 
upon him. 

“ Let me go !” he exclaimed. 

“ Naw !” answered his captor. 

“ Let me go, or I’ll kill you !” 

“ Naw ; you don’t mean it !” 

The prostrate man made a quick movement with his 
head, and catching one of the boy’s fingers in his mouth, 
lacerated it badly with his teeth. 

The boy struck him a sharp blow in the face with his 


PASSING SNA DOWS. 


287 


Other hand, and Mackey, weak and dazed from his fall, 
made no further effort to escape. 

Eddie had sent a small boy, who was in the alley, 
around to the next street to tell Detective Whalen where 
he could find his prisoner. 

In a little while the officer came througli the alley, 
his wounded hand wrapped in a handkerchief, and a 
small, shining revolver showing in the other. This 
time he put both of the prisoner’s hands in the hand- 
cuffs, and started for the station-house. 

Eddie washed the blood from his cut finger at a pump 
in the back yard, and then huiried to bring the good 
news to the Crystals. 

It was after the time for Gay to be home from work, 
and her father, mother, and Agnes were anxiously wait- 
ing for her, to tell her the good news. 

She came in about half-past six, and loosening her 
veil from her face, dropped into an arm-chair, saying, 
“ I am very tired ; I’ve had a headache all afternoon.” 

” We have very good news for you. Gay,” Mrs. 
Crystal said. ” I’m afraid to tell you too suddenly, lest 
you may get nervous and ill.” 

Gabrielle looked up at her mother, and then let her 
eyes roam to Agnes for an explanation. She saw in an 
instant that it must be something of great importance 
from the strange look in their faces. Her heart beat 
fast, and sent the blood into her olive cheeks. 

” Is it about Jack, mother ? Tell me quickly.” 

” Yes ; it’s good news about Jack. They have caught 
the thief that .stole the letters.” 


288 


PASSING SHADOWS, 


“ No ! no !” cried Gabrielle, excitedly jumping 
from her chair ; “ that isn’t true, is it ? It’s not cer- 
tain, is it, Agnes ?” 

“ Yes, Gay,” Agnes replied, ” we know it for a posi- 
tive fact.” 

Just then a loud knock was heard, and Mr. Crystal 
reached over and opened the door. 

” Excuse me,” said Eddie Hayes, sticking in an ex- 
cited face and addressing himself to Agnes, who was 
standing in the middle of the room, ‘‘ but I wanted to 
tell you that the man that stole those letters has been 
caught, and the detective is just bringing him down the 
street.” 

Agnes and Gabrielle hurried through the rooms to 
the front window, and in the street below saw a man 
handcuffed. When he passed by they turned and walked 
into the back room, where Gabrielle made the boy re- 
hearse the whole story. 

After supper the amateur detective excused himself, 
and left the Crystals in the enjoyment of the happy turn 
things had taken. 

He sauntered leisurely toward the Bowery, and then 
walked in the direction of Park Row. The long, inter- 
minable line of electric lights, together with myriads of 
gas-lights, made the street almost as bright as day. 
Hat-stores, pawnshops, restaurants, clothing establish- 
ments, concert-gardens, and cheap museums all seemed 
to be doing a thriving business. Pressing invitations 
to enter were extended to pedestrians on all sides. 

When he arrived at Park Row he crossed the street, 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


289 


and going into a German beer saloon, inquired of the 
proprietor if George Woods had been around. 

From the back of the store came the salute, “ Here I 
am, Eddie ; what’s up?” 

Eddie made his way to where a young man was sit- 
ting, atjd sat down beside him. 

” I’ve got a great case for you ; you’ll make a fifty on 
it sure.” 

The eyes of the young reporter brightened. The boy 
had put him in the way of making money several times 
before, by giving him material for a good story for the 
morning newspaper to which he was attached. He was 
therefore immediately interested, and listened intently 
to the story of the stolen letter and the arrest of Mackey 
as the boy tragically narrated it. 

” Be careful of one thing,” said the narrator as he 
finished, ” and that is to give Whalen a big puff, see ? 
He’s a white man, even if he is a detective.” 

Having finished his story, Eddie left for home, and 
the reporter’s pencil plied busily for two hours. 

The next morning bright and early the small boy 
went out to the corner news-stand and bought the 
Morning Call. On the front page in heavy lines he read 
the following : 

” Not Guilty ! An Innocent Man Torn from his In- 
tended Bride ! Sing Sing instead of Orange Blossoms ! 
Detective Whalen’s Clever Piece of Work ! Valuable 
Assistance of a Young Boy !” 

Then followed the story of the crime, the conviction 
of John Fulton, and the arrest of the real thief. 


290 


FASSING SBADOpyS, 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“ For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and 
m health, till death do us part." 

A LITTLE group of anxious watchers stood in the 
Grand Central Station awaiting the arrival of an 
evening train from Sing Sing. It consisted of Mr. and 
Mrs. Crystal, Gabrielle, Agnes, and Eddie Hayes. 

Just as the hands of the big clock pointed to seven, 
the train came rolling in. 

There was a rush of waiting people down the path- 
way which led to the train, a girl’s scream, and the next 
moment John Fulton was holding Gabrielle faint and 
limp in his arms. 

The trainmen smiled at what to them was an oft- 
repeated comedy. 

A newsboy made his way into the crowd with a pewter 
mug full of water “ for the fainting lady,” and Ga- 
brielle’s eyes slowly opened and rested on John Ful- 
ton’s face. When she was fully recovered the little 
group made its way out of the station. John Fulton 
hailed one of a number of cabmen who were shouting 
like mad to attract customers. He and Agnes and Ga- 
brielle entered the carriage, and in a moment were 
rolling along the asphalt pavement. 

The tragedy was over, and peace entered their hearts 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


291 


as gently as the June breeze came in through the open 
windows of the carriage. 

To John Fulton New York never looked so beautiful. 
He watched with interest the children playing in the 
parks ; the circles and beds of bright tulips and gera- 
niums ; the water plashing in the fountains, and the 
electric lights just sputtering into life. He noticed 
many things that never before had had any interest for 
him. It was so good to be free again! A passing let- 
ter-carrier brought back to him a sad recollection for a 
moment, but John Fulton was too happy to be much 
affected by the remembrance of his own trouble. 

In a short time the carriage rolled into the district 
where the Crystals lived. John Fulton looked out of 
the window and saw the familiar rows of brick houses 
and the same people on their way home from work. It 
might have been a cheerless enough sight to some, this 
overcrowded East Side, but it filled his heart with hap- 
piness. He leaned over to Gabrielle, and hummed 
softly, “ Home, Sweet, Sweet Home.” 

Oh, it was so good to have him back again ! His 
voice sounded in her ears and ran through her soul like 
an Easter hymn. They were both so very happy — per- 
haps as happy as the good things of this life can make 
any one. They had come through great suffering to 
find this happiness. They were enjoying the intense 
sweetness of the pleasure which comes after pain. 

Supper was a long meal in the house of the Crystals 
that evening. Detective Whalen dropped in to see the 


292 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


young man whom he had helped to liberate, and who 
would be the means of his promotion. Later the re- 
porter of the Morning Call appeared at the door, to find 
out if John Fulton wished to make any statement. 

Eddie Hayes jumped up from the supper-table at the 
announcement of the reporter’s presence, and on John 
Fulton’s answering that he had nothing to say to the 
papers, except that he found New York more pleasant 
than Sing Sing, the amateur detective excused himseff, 
and joined the young newspaper man to give him more 
material for another startling leader. 

A few days after John Fulton had returned to the city 
the postmaster, who had prosecuted him with great 
energy, sent for him and appointed him to a position of 
trust in the department, as an act of reparation, he said, 
for being the cause of sending an innocent man to 
prison. 

This was a lucky turn for John Fulton, as it meant 
less work and a considerable increase of salary. 

“ There is only one thing left to complete our happi- 
ness, Gay,” he said, after he had told her of his promo- 
tion. 

” What is that?” she asked eagerly and unsuspect- 
ingly, as she looked up into his face. 

” A June wedding,” he replied. 

She blushed, but made no answer. To have him 
home again was so great a blessing, that the thought of 
an early marriage had not once come into her mind. 
He interpreted her silence as not giving consent. 

” I have your father’s and mother’s permission, and 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


293 


besides I have been given a vacation, which is to begin 
some time this month. Have I your permission, too ?” 
he asked, catching hold of her hand and slipping on 
her finger the engagement ring he had bought the fatal 
day on which he had been arrested. 

The sight of the ring, and the memories it brought 
back, filled her heart with mingled pain and gladness. 
She turned it around on her finger, and then smiled at 
htm through her tears. He understood. 

Two days after John Fulton had been released from 
prison he received an urgent note from Horace Bryce, 
asking him to call at his house. John Fulton had noticed 
a change in Horace Bryce’s manner for some time 
before the unlucky day on which the letters were stolen. 
The. little scenes which had occurred between Horace 
and Gabntelle were, of course, unknown to him, and he 
was at a loss to explain the change that had come over 
his quondam friend. 

When he arrived at the house he found Horace Bryce 
very ill, suffering from an attack of double pneumonia. 
The worst stage of the disease had not yet been reached, 
and the doctor could give no encouragement. 

“ I sent for you. Jack,” the sick man began in a gasp- 
ing voice, while the perspiration stood in big drops on 
his forehead and rolled down his pale cheeks, ” be- 
cause I want to tell you why I am lying here to- 
night.” 

John Fulton was a little surprised at the words and 
serious tone of voice, but he said nothing. 


294 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


“ Perhaps you do not know that once I was in love 
with Gabrielle Crystal ?” 

The visitor looked at the patient in astonishment, and 
then murmured to himself, “ Poor fellow ! the fever has 
affected his mind.” 

” Did you ever suspect that ?” the sick man asked, 
turning about in the bed and propping himself up on 
one arm. 

‘‘ No, I never did,” John Fulton replied, thinking 
it was about the best thing to say. 

” Yes, Jack, I was deeply in love with Miss Crystal, 
and I even went so far as to ask her to marry me. I 
need not say that she refused,” he added, a faint 
smile lighting up for a moment his dull, feverish eyes. 
” Shortly after I found out that there was no hope for 
me, I heard that Miss Crystal had always been in love 
with you, and that, as you never seemed to realize the 
fact, she had made use of me to arouse your jealousy.” 

John Fulton’s eyes opened wide with wonder, and as 
he looked more closely at the sick man, he asked, ” Do 
you mean all this, Horace, or is the fever bothering 
you ?” 

” Every word of it,” he replied, letting his arm fall 
in a despondent way upon the coverlet. ” When that 
piece of news reached me I believed it, and I hated 
Gabrielle, and I think I hated you. I brooded over it 
for weeks, and I thought of a great many ways of tak- 
ing revenge. At last a chance came, and 1 want to tell 
you now, when perhaps I am dying, of the revenge I 
took.” 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


295 


John Fulton protested against the mention of death, 
but Horace Bryce seemed so wrapt up in what he was 
saying, that he did not hear the protest. 

“ The night you lost the two letters I was in the post- 
office doing some work which I had neglected. I saw you 
hang up your coat, and I saw Mackey put his hand into 
the pocket and take out the letters. And, Jack,” he 
continued, touching his friend’s knee with his feverish 
hand, ” I was glad. I could have saved you from going 
to prison, but I was crazy for revenge. I wanted to 
make Gabrielle suffer, as I foolishly believed she had 
made me suffer. Now I have had my revenge. Jack, 
and it is killing me.” 

Horace Bryce’s head fell back on the pillow. His 
mind was relieved, but the strain of the confession had 
been too great for his bodily strength, and he fainted. 

John Fulton rose quickly, and seeing a bottle of am- 
monia on a side table, hastened to. revive him. When 
Horace showed signs of returning vigor, John Fulton 
gave him a glass of wine to drink, and gradually life 
came back. On gaining his strength the sick man 
began again to talk, but John Fulton protested, declar- 
ing that all was over now, and they would be good 
friends forever. 

Horace Bryce pleaded, however, to finish, saying that 
it would do him good. 

He began once more : ” Since the time you were con- 
victed, Jack, life has been a torture to me. My desire 
for revenge faded away the first day you went to prison. 
I knew I was responsible for your going there, and yet 


296 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


if I were to confess the truth, I saw what a figure I 
would cut and how I would be disgraced. I had re- 
pented, but I wanted the courage to do what I knew 
was my duty. Night and day I worried, until the strain 
was too great, and then I was taken ill with pneu- 
monia.” 

He paused for a moment, and asked for a drink to 
wet his parched throat ; then he continued : ” When I 
found myself stretched here on my bed, the idea that I 
was being punished for what I had done took so strong 
a hold on me that I no longer hesitated as to how I 
would act. If I got better I would immediately tell the 
truth about the stolen letters, and if I died they would 
find a note under my pillow which would free you from 
prison.” 

He turned on his side, and after fumbling a moment, 
succeeded in extracting an envelope stained with per- 
spiration. He tore it open, and handed the enclosed 
letter to John Fulton. 

It contained an account of the theft, and a confession 
of Horace Bryce’s knowledge of it. 

John Fulton glanced down the page rapidly, and then 
tore it into small pieces. 

” Now you have heard my story, Jack, and you see 
how contemptible I have been.” 

The look of agony and shame in Horace Bryce’s eyes 
touched the man whom he had injured, and leaning 
over the bed, John Fulton ran his cool hand .over the 
hot forehead, saying, ” I forgive you everything. The 
person most to blame was the one who circulated the 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


297 


lie that Gay had used you as a tool. You believe it 
was a lie, don't you ?” 

The look in the heavy eyes was more assuring than 
any words could have been. A carriage rolled up to 
the door, and the voice of the physician was heard in 
the hall. John Fulton rose immediately to go. 

“ One word more. Jack. What will Miss Crystal 
say ?” 

“You had better leave that to me I will explain 
all.” John Fulton went out one door an instant before 
the physician entered at another. 

The doctor’s diagnosis, as given to Horace Bryce's 
mother a quarter of an hour afterward, was the most 
cheering news she had yet received. With the excep- 
tion of a little nervousness, the doctor said, her son was 
much brighter, and there was no necessity at present to 
order a consultation. 

Late the following morning, on awakening from a re- 
freshing sleep, Horace Bryce's eyes rested on a bouquet 
of red roses in a vase by his bedside. The next thing 
to attract his attention was a letter lying near the vase. 
He picked it up, and on opening the envelope, read this 
short message : 

“ So sorry you are ill. Jack has told me all. I for- 
give you everything. I can understand how you must 
have felt toward me when you came to believe what you 
heard. In the light of other things, I see now how, un- 
wittingly, I may have given you reason to think as you 
did. It is all over now, ‘forever and a day.’ Agnes 


298 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


and I are praying for you, so you will get bettef 
soon. 

“ With great sympathy, 

“ Gabrielle Crystal.” 

Before eight o’clock in the morning a few days after 
Gabrielle had written to Horace Bryce, two carriages 
were standing in front of the house in which the Crys- 
tals lived. Mr. and Mrs, Crystal, John Fulton and Ga- 
brielle entered one, and Agnes Crystal, Mary Somer- 
set, and Stella Conway the other. Eddie Hayes could 
not be persuaded to take the vacant seat, preferring to 
sit with the driver. There was great excitement in 
Eldridge Street over the wedding. From a hundred 
children’s voices.went up the cry, ” Oh, ain’t she nice !” 
as Gabrielle came down the steps leaning on her father's 
arm. 

” It was ever thus,” the Authoress said, as the car- 
riages rolled away ; ” I am always going to other peo- 
ple’s weddings. It’s a wonder, Mary, that no one ever 
proposes to me. Do you think it’s because I am too 
massive or too school-teacherish that eligible young 
men pass me by ?” 

Mary Somerset smiled sadly at the question. Ga- 
brielle’s coming marriage brought back the recollection 
of her own broken life. But the volubility and vivacity 
of the Authoress killed off all tendency to sadness. 

” I wish some nice young man would be foolish 
enough to fall in love with me, just so I could enjoy it. 
I have read all that has been written on love-making, 
from George Meredith to Bertha Clay, and I could give 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


299 


any ordinary young man points on how to do it. 
Wouldn’t it be funny, Agnes ? I would be sitting in 
my boudoir in Henry Street, and the young man would 
enter the room in fear and trembling, and in a hushed 
voice begin, ‘ Dear Stella, the moment has arrived in 
which I am about to put to you a question which, if an- 
swered as I hope it will be, will not fail to make my 
happiness complete.’ When he had finished I would 
answer, ‘ Excuse me, kind sir ; I am very well read on 
this particular subject, and I don’t think your manner 
of proposing is according to the best models. Let me 
show you how it is done.^ Then I would make him sit 
down, and I would teach him how they do those things 
in fashionable novels.” 

The carriages drew up in front of an old-fashioned 
brown-stone church, and the Authoress subsided. Eddie 
Hayes jumped from his seat and opened the carriage 
doors. It was not yet eight o’clock, and the streets 
were still filled with people on their way to work. 
Some of them recognized John Fulton, and whispered 
the romance of his marriage to the others, who had 
stopped to see the bride. 

The wedding was a pretty one. Everybody in the 
church knew of the events which had preceded it, and 
seemed to take a personal interest in the ceremony. 
The small boys on the altar carried themselves with un- 
wonted dignity, and the singers in the choir put their 
hearts into the music. The amateur detective, though 
rather youthful, was chosen to act as best man. 

The morning sunshine fell in a stream on the bright 


300 


PASSING SHADOWS. 


red carpet of the sanctuary, and made a golden walk up 
the steps of the altar for the young people. The lighted 
candles seemed to dance for joy in the breeze, and the 
odor of June roses filled the church. 

When the ceremony was finished, and the priest had 
prayed that the union would last in eternity, Mr. and 
Mrs. f'ulton walked down the aisle to the glad music of 
a wedding march. The crowd outside of the church, in 
the meantime, had grown considerably, and when the 
young couple appeared they received an ovation such 
as was never before given to any bride and bridegroom 
on the East Side. 

After the wedding breakfast, John Fulton and his wife 
took a carriage and drove to the railroad station and 
boarded a train for Canada. They were to spend the 
time of their honeymoon in the little village in which 
Mrs. Crystal had been born and wedded, and where 
some of her relatives still lived. 

As Gabrielle sat in the whirling train with her hus- 
band beside her she thought of many things, and a sigh 
escaped her. 

On her husband asking in surprise what was the mat- 
ter, she answered, “ I was just thinking of poor Agnes. 
If she could only be as happy as I am now !” 

Agnes Crystal sat at home reading a letter from Clara 
Harkins. It ran as follows : 

“ Convent of the , St. Aloysius’ Day. 

“ My dear Agnes ; I am ‘ at home ’ at last. I am 
not, after all, to become Mr. Parker’s wife, but a nun. 

I came here with my father’s approval one week ago. 


PASSING SHADOIVS. 


301 


and in a month I shall put on the habit. My father and 
mother bitterly repent of their manner of acting toward 
me. A great change has come over my fathjer especially. 
He is considerably poorer than he was. Mr. Parker saved 
him from losing everything, but his losses were great. 
I am not sorry, as it has had a good effect upon him. 
He is going to close out his business and live in retire- 
ment. He says that he sees now the folly of living for 
money alone. Last Sunday he went to Mass, the first 
time in nearly thirty years. I cannot tell you how great 
is my joy because of this change in my father. 

“ You must come up to see me the first chance you 
get. My love to Gay. 

“ Yours as ever, 

“ Clara.” 

Agnes, silent and still, gazed out of the window. Her 
mind was full of strange thoughts. In the morning 
papers she had read that Mackey had been sent to 
prison the day before. Beside Clara’s letter lay an 
open telegram offering congratulations to John Fulton 
and Gabrielle, and saying that the doctor had pro- 
nounced Horace Bryce out of danger. 

” It’s an odd world,” she murmured to herself, ” and 
I pity poor Gabrielle, who has to live in it.” 

In another room a mother sat alone, and hot tears 
were burning her eyes. She was thinking of the day 
when she would have to part with her younger daughter. 


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